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BERKELEY 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALtfORNIA 


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J^d 


"he  studied  himself  in  the  glass" 


MY    LADY    NOBODY 


a  IFlovel 


BY 


MAARTEN   AIAARTENS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 


1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


BeMcatton 

GoD'S  Angel  of  Human,  Love  sat  alone  in  the  garden  of  lilies.  Her  arms 
hung  listless  among  the  blooins  she  had  gathered  into  her  lap.  For  her  eyes — 
sole  mirrors  of  the  Inapproachable  Presence — were  gazing  steadfastly  down 
upon  the  darkness,  deep  down  where  the  black  bar  of  sorrow  strikes  aci'oss  the 
wide  radiance  of  eternity,  down  on  the  sin-laden  star  that  still  hastens  athwart 
the  shadow.  A  single  teardrop  stole  out  upon  her  cheeky  and,  falling,  crept 
away  into  a  milk-white  chalice.  Suddenly,  with  a  movement  of  ineffable  pity, 
she  fung  forth  all  the  flowers  upon  her  lap,  into  the  world  below. 

Into  my  bosom,  0  Beloved,  is  fallen  the  flower  with  the  tear  at  its  heart. 
Unto  thee,  0  fair  among  God^s  flowers,  white  among  his  angels,  strong  among 
his  saints,  unto  thee,  with  the  thorn  in  thy  side,  and  the  star  on  thy  forehead, 
unto  tlice  do  I  dedicate  this  ray  from  a  life  of  which  thou  art  the  light. 


119 


CONTE:t^TS 


Ipart  ir 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    URSULA 1 

II.    THE    DOMINE 6 

III.  HOME 10 

IV.  THE    VAN    HELMONTS 18 

V.    LE    PREMIER    PAS — QUI    COUTE   ........  25 

VI.    UNCONSCIOUS    RIVALS 34 

VII.  Harriet's  romance 43 

VIII.    THE    TRYST 53 

IX.   otto's  wooing 63 

X.     AN    INDELIBLE    STAIN 74 

XI.    ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS .  83 

XII.    "AN    OLD    maid's    LOVE  "        .........  94 

XIII.  FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH 105 

XIV.  A    SATISFACTORY    SETTLEMENT 113 

XV.    DONNA    E    MOBILE 119 

XVI.    A    FOOL    AND    HIS    FOLLY .       .  I37 

part  -ff-ff 

XVII.    BROTHERLY    HATE     . 136 

XVIII.    THE    DUTY    OF    THE    PARENT.       ....       .       .       .       .  142 

XIX.    FORFEITS    ALL    ROUND 151 

XX.    MYNHEER    MOPIUS's    PARTY 159 

XXI.    BARON    VAN    HELMONT        .       . 169 


VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPtfilt 

XXII.  Gerard's  share     .     . 

XXIII.  TOPSY    REXELAER      .       . 

XXIV.  MASKS    AND    FACES  *       * 

XXV.  CORONETS    AND    CROSSES 

XXVI.  FREULE    LOUISA  .       .       . 

XXVII.  PEACE    AND    GOOD-WILL 

XXVIIL  THE    SECOND    MRS.  MOPlUS 

XXIX,  THE    BLOT    ON    THE    SNOW 

XXX.  CHRISTMAS    EVE  *       .       .       . 

XXXL  "whosoever    shall    SMITE    THEE 

XXXIL  THE    GREAT    PEACE  ..4,4 


ipart  mnr 

XXXIII.  INTRlGUte  .       *       . 

XXXIV.  THE    NEW    LIFE    . 
XXXV.  "  MRS.   GERARD  " 

XXXVI.  THE    DEAD-AWAKE 

XXXVII.  POLITICS     .       .       . 

XXXVin.  THE    OLD    BLOT    » 

XXXIX.  THE    COUNSfiLLOR 

XL.  THE    NEW    BAILIFF 

XLl.  THUNDER    IN    THfi    TROPICS 

XLIL  THE    FINGER    OF    SCORN       . 

XLIII.  ARRESTED         4       »       .       .       . 

XLIV.  AFRAID 

XLV.  THE    HOME-COMING    OF    THE    HERO 

XLVL  THE    FATAL    KNIFE    . 

XLVII.  TRIUMPHANT  .       .       . 

XLVIIL  A   WIFE    FOR    GERARD 

XLIX.  FACE    TO    FACE    WITH    HERSELF  * 


ILLUSTKATIONS 


"  iiK  STUDIED  HIMSEI.P  IN  THE  GLASS " Froutispiece 

"'confound  you!     get  out  of  the  way,  can't  you?'"  .  Facing  page  4 

"'gird  up  your  loins!'  cried  the  DOMiNii:" "  "  26 

♦"oh,  I'm  so  sorry,'  she  cried" "  "  36 

"the  girls  walked  on  in  silence" "  "  58 

"'the  tram!'  exclaimed  URSULA,  half  rising"      ..."  "  108 

" '  there  has  been  no  quarrel  that  I  know  of,  mevrouw  '  "  "  "  120 

"'no  one  more  sorry  than  yourself!'  burst  in  Gerard"  "  "  138 

"he  WENT  FORWARD  WITH  HIS  fingers  AT  HIS  collar-stud"  "  "  156 

"'it   seems   too   cruel    to   DIE   AND    LEAVE   IT   ALL "         .       .  "  "  168 

"there    was   such   a    crowd   in   THE    CENTRAL   ROOM  "     ,       .  "  "  192 

"'oh,  THEY    ARE    ALL   THAT,'  CRIED    OTTO,  FACING   ROUND"    ,  "  '*  212 

"  '  I  SHOULD  WISH  TO — PAY  SEVEN  FLORINS  MORE  PER  WEEK  '  "  "  "  222 
"  SHE   SANK   DOWN    BESIDE    THE    CRAPLE,  HIDING   AWAY    FROM 

him" "  "  238 

"  GERARD   THRUST   THE   GLOVE    INTO    HIS   POCKET "     .      .       .       .  "  "  254 

"' GOOD-BYE,  MB.  MOPIUS ;  MY  COMPLIMENTS  TO  MEVROUW  !' "  "  "  2*76 
"  '  DO   YOU   KNOW,  YOU  BOY,  WHO   COMES   FOR   CHILDREN  THAT 

STEAL?'" "  "  284 

"'COME   UP-STAIRS,'  SHE    REITERATED" "  "  292 

"'l  SUPPOSE  YOU  don't  REMEMBER  ME,  MADAME '  "  ..."  "  314 
"  THEY    BEGAN    CALMLY    CARVING    A    PASSAGE    THROUGH    THE 

DENSE   OBSTRUCTION" "  "  348 

"substantial   housewives    WHISPERED    BEHIND    HER    BACK, 

'fie!  fie!'" "  "  352 

"the  carriage  halted  by  the  church" "    "  382 

"  '  it    shall    be    five    thousand    florins    IP   it's   a   PENNY, 

MY  lady'" "           "  400 

"  '  I    AM    COME    to    MAKE    CONFESSION    AND    THEN    TO    LEAVE 

you'" "         "412 


MY   LADY    NOBODY 


pact   f.— CHAPTER   I 
URSULA 


It  was  a  white-hot  July  morning.  Long  ago  the  impatient 
earth  had  cast  aside  her  thin  veil  of  summer  twilight ;  already 
she  lay,  a  Danae,  in  exultant  swoon  beneath  the  golden  sun. 
Yet  the  bridegroom  had  barely  leaped  forth  to  the  conquest; 
his  rath  kisses  were  still  drinking  the  pearly  freshness  from  the 
dawn,  while  the  loud  birds  filled  the  resonant  heavens  with  the 
tumult  of  their  bridal  song. 

It  was  still  so  early,  and  already  so. immovably  warm;  all 
wide  earth  and  deep  sky  agasp  in  the  naked  blaze.  Ursula 
drew  forward  her  broad-brimmed  straw  hat,  where  she  stood 
picking  pease  among  the  tall  lines  of  pale-green,  blossom-speck- 
led tangle. 

"  Oof  !"  she  said.  Not  as  your  burly  farmer  says  it,  but  with 
the  prettiest  little  high-pitched  echo  of  the  louder  note.  And 
she  buried  her  soft  brown  cheeks  in  the  cool  moisture  of  her 
half-filled  basket.  Then  she  gravely  resumed  her  work,  and  a 
great,  big,  booming  bumblebee,  which  had  thought  to  play  hide 
and  seek  with  Ursula's  nose,  sailed  away  in  disgust  that  on 
such  a  sun-soaked  morning  any  of  God's  creatures  should  bend 
to  toil  in  his  sight. 

Ursula  Rovers  was  not  one  of  those  who  serve  their  Maker 
with  dancing  and  a  shout.  Yet  she  sang  to  herself,  very  sedate- 
ly, as  she  broke  off  each  bursting  pod,  amid  the  fiercer  jubi- 
lation of  the  passion-drunk  blackbirds  and  finches. 


2  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"Stand  then  with  girded  loins,  and  see  your  lamps  be  burning; 
What  though  the  sun  He  fair  upon  your  patlis  to-day, 
Who  reads  the  evening  sky?     Who  knows  if  winds  be  turning? 
The  night  comes  surely.     Watch  and  pray !" 

The  prim  vegetable  garden,  with  its  ranks  of  gay  salads 
and  pompous  cabbages,  lay  serenely  roasting,  as  vegetable  gar- 
dens delight  to  do,  in  unabated  verdure.  About  Ursula's  corner 
the  lattice-work  of  creepers  put  forth  some  faint  attempt  at  a 
stunted  shadow.  Domine  Rovers  came  down  the  walk,  his 
coat-flaps  brushing  the  currant-bushes. 

"Who  reads  the  evening  sky?     Who  knows  if  winds  be  turning?" 

"Ursula!" 

»  Yes,  Captain." 

"  Come  in  and  shell  your  pease,  while  I  recite  you  my  ser- 
mon." 

"  But  I  must  pick  them  first,  father  !" 

"  True.  What  I  love  best  in  you,  Ursula,  is  that  you  are  as 
logical  as  if  you  were  not  a  woman." 

The  pastor  drew  nearer  to  the  scaffolding  of  greenery,  and 
strove  vainly  to  shelter  his  tall  figure  in  its  shade.  He  was  a 
spare,  soldierly-looking  man,  with  an  honest  complexion  and 
silvery  hair.  You  knew  he  had  a  very  gentle  countenance  until 
you  gave  him  cause  to  turn  a  wrathful  look  upon  you. 

"I  might  as  well  begin  at  once,"  he  said,  and,  proud  though 
she  was  of  her  father's  preaching,  the  girl's  soul  rose  in  momen- 
tary protest  on  behalf  of  the  birds  and  flowers.  "  I  have 
chosen  a  text  for  to-morrow,  Ursula,  which  has  troubled  my 
thoughts  all  through  the  week.  All  through  the  week,  I 
couldn't  understand  it.  And  when  I  came  to  look  it  out,  it 
wasn't  there  at  all." 

Ursula's  dutiful  lips  said,  "  I  see." 

"  I  imagined  the  verse  to  be  as  follows :  "  Flee  from  youth- 
ful lusts  that  war  against  the  soul."  But  I  see  the  word  used 
is  '  Abstain.'  I  could  not  believe  it  of  St.  Peter  that  he 
would  have  instructed  any  man  to  run  away  in  battle.  You 
will  find  the  '  flee '  in  Timothy,  my  dear,  but  the  connection  is 
not  the  same." 


URSULA 


Domine  Rovers  paused  and  stood  tenderly  watching  his 
natty  daughter  in  her  cool  print  dress.  Suddenly  he  burst  out 
quite  impetuously,  "  Resist !  Resist !  That  is  the  true  Bible 
language.  Resist  the  devil.  Resist  temptation.  And  so  I 
shall  tell  them  to-morrow  morning.  *  Dearly  beloved,'  I  shall 
say,  '  life  is  a — '  " 

"  War,"  cried  Ursula,  facing  round.  A  bold  blackbird  had 
alighted  on  one  of  the  stakes,  and  sang  loudly  of  peace  and 
good-will. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  child  "^ — the  Domine's  eyes  grew  vexed 
— "  I  know  I  have  said  it  before  ;  they  cannot  hear  the  truth 
too  often.  Life  is  a  battle,  dearly  beloved.  Against  the  city 
of  Mansoul  all  the  powers  of  evil  band  themselves  together. 
But  in  the  vanguard  march  ever  the  lusts  of  the  flesh.  You 
cannot  escape  the  conflict.  And  therefore " — the  speaker 
lifted  an  energetic  arm — "  remember  what  said  the  Corinthians 
— the  grandsires  of  St.  Paul's  Corinthians — to  i^e  Spartans, 
their  allies,  '  He  that,  for  love  of  pleasure,  shrinks  from  battle, 
will  most  swiftly  be  deprived  of  those  very  delights  which 
caused  him  to  abstain.'  My  subject  divides  itself — Ursula, 
you  are  not  attending — into  seven  natural  parts :  the  enemy, 
the  weapons,  the — " 

Nobody  listened.  All  God's  creation,  busy  with  its  individ- 
ual loves  and  pleasures,  luxuriously  lapped  in  the  sensuous 
sunlight  and  rejoicing  in  universal  allreument,  was  twittering  and 
fluttering  and  blushing  and  blooming  in  clouds  of  perfume  and 
pollen.  The  great  All-father  smiled  down  upon  his  manifold 
children — and  shrivelled  them  up. 

Ursula  was  not  listening.  Her  father  was  a  dear,  dear  man, 
but  she  had  heard  it  all  so  often  before  !  And  fortune  had 
pity  upon  her  and  upon  the  sleepily  staring  marigolds,  and 
created  a  diversion  ere  the  sermon  was  ten  sentences  old. 

Shrill  shrieks  of  childish  protest  under  punishment  iirose 
from  beyond  the  garden-wall.  The  pastor  of  an  unruly  flock 
immediately  ran  to  peer  over  the  bushes.  And  Ursula  followed 
more  slowly,  flitting  into  the  full  morning  glow. 

Out  on  the  gleaming  high-road  a  peasant-woman  was  bela- 
boring an  eight-year-old  urchin  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust.     "I'll 


MY    LADY    NOBODY 


teach  you  to  use  bad  words,"  she  was  screaming.     "  Damn  me, 
I  can't  make  out,  for  the  life  o'  me,  what  taught  the  child  to 


swear 


t" 


Ursula,  leaning  one  round  arm  on  the  top  of  the  garden-wall, 
turned  spontaneously  to  her  father,  all  her  serious  young  face  a 
swift  ripple  of  fun  ;  but  the  Domine  counted  not  a  pennyworth 
of  humor  among  his  many  militant  virtues.  He  pressed  his 
thin  lips  tight,  under  his  Wellington  nose.  He  was  not  going 
to  reprove  a  mother  in  the  presence  of  her  son. 

"  Discipline  first,"  said  the  Domine.  "  One  thing  I  note 
gratefully,  Ursula,  that  the  wretched  habit  of  swearing  is  now 
confined  to  the  lower  classes  in  this  country.  In  my  time  even 
gentlemen  would  swear — " 

A  dog-cart  had  turned  the  sharp  angle  at  the  back,  where  the 
road  breaks  off  to  the  Manor-house.  In  the  dust  and  the  skir- 
mish it  pulled  up  with  a  jerk,  and  a  clear  voice  was  heard  cry- 
ing, 

"  Confound  you  !  Get  out  of  the  way,  can't  you  ?  Scuffling 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  !" 

The  dog-cart  was  a  very  smart  dog-cart,  and  the  mare  was  a 
high-stepping  mare.  She  fretted  under  the  sudden  restraint, 
amid  an  appetizing  jingle  and  smell  and  glitter  of  harness. 
There  was  not  so  much  promiscuous  dust  but  that  the  speaker 
could  instantaneously  perceive  the  two  heads  over  the  low 
brown  wall. 

He  lifted  his  cap.  "Good-morning,  Domine  !  Good-morn- 
ing, Ursula  !"  he  said,  with  nonchalance.  "  Awfully  hot  already, 
isn't  it  ?" 

The  Domine  raised  a  flashing  eye.  The  woman  and  boy  had 
slipped  away.  "  Gerard,"  said  the  Domine,  ♦'  why  do  you 
swear  at  our  people  ?  How  often  must  I  remind  you  of  our 
joint  responsibility  ?  We  must  lead  them  to  what  is  right ;  I 
by  my  precept,  you  by  your  example." 

"  Oh,  Domine,  I'll  exchange,  if  you're  agreeable,"  retorted 
the  young  man,  with  a  quick  smile.     The  Domine  looked  away. 

"  You  are  going  to  the  station  to  fetch  your  brother,  Ge- 
rard?" interposed  Ursula,  carelessly  cracking  the  pods  in  her 
basket. 


URSULA  5 

"  Yes,  at  your  service,"  replied  the  young  man,  as  he  loos- 
ened the  reins. 

"  How  strange  it  will  be  for  you  to  meet  Mynheer  Otto  again 
after  all  these  years  !" 

Gerard  turned  quickly  from  his  prancing  steed.  "  Are  you 
going  to  call  Otto  *  Mynheer  '  ?"  he  asked. 

She  blushed  with  annoyance,  in  an  overflow  of  innocent  con- 
fusion. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  went  on.  "  Only,  of  course,  you  will 
have  to  call  me  Mynheer  Gerard." 

He  raced  off,  laughing.  "  I  know  you,"  she  stammered  ;  but 
the  words  were  lost  in  the  dog-cart's  departing  rattle.  She 
appealed  to  her  father  in  dismay.  "  Why,  father,"  she  cried,  "  I 
have  known  Gerard  all  my  life  !" 

Together  they  stood  watching  the  dust-enfolded  vehicle  dis- 
appear into  the  far  blue  sunshine.  Its  occupant  was  young, 
light-hearted,  and  handsome.  Evidently  a  cavalry  officer :  you 
could  see  that  by  the  way  in  which  his  tweeds  and  he  conjoined 
without  combining. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE      DOMINE 

"  Let  us  go  in  to  breakfast,"  said  the  Domine.  Father  and 
daughter  passed  up  between  the  stiff  stalks  of  the  gooseberry- 
bushes,  among  the  sallow,  swollen  fruit.  Both  of  them  walked 
with  a  straight  step,  the  figure  erect,  and  a  little  self-reliant. 

The  pastor  fell  back  a  few  paces  with  meditative  gaze.  He 
■was  wont  to  rejoice  tremulously  in  Ursula's  physical  health,  in 
the  easy  carriage  of  the  head,  the  light  swing  of  the  hips.  He 
rejoiced  in  the  clear  brown  of  her  complexion  and  the  calm 
depth  of  her  brave  brown  eyes.  No  weak  woman  in  blood  or 
brain,  this  stately,  strong-limbed  maiden.  He  thanked  God 
mournfully,  ever  reminiscent  of  the  pervading  sorrow  of  his 
life,  the  loss  of  the  frail  young  creature  who  had  dropped  by 
the  road-side  wellnigh  twenty  years  ago. 

It  was  that  affliction  which  had  made  a  cleric  of  Captain 
Roderick  Rovers.  By  nature  he  was  a  soldier,  recklessly  brave 
and  almost  devil-may-care.  A  man  who  thought  straight,  if  not 
far,  and  struck  straight  in  the  front.  He  had  escaped  from  the 
inertia  of  the  long  Batavian  peace  to  the  red-hot  tumult  of  Al- 
gerian desert  war,  and  had  come  back,  early  bronzed  and  sil- 
vered, plus  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  minus  an  arm.  He  had 
married  a  pure  white  clinging  thing,  like  a  lily,  that  twined 
every  tendril  round  his  sturdy  support,  and  then  dropped  from 
the  stem.  She  was  a  good  woman.  To  him  she  had  come  as  a 
revelation.  "  I  have  fought  the  good  fight,"  she  had  whispered 
in  dying.  He,  with  the  medals  on  his  breast  and  the  memory 
of  not  a  few  killed  and  wounded — could  he  have  said  as  much 
face  to  face  with  death  ? 

He  began  to  comprehend  something  of  that  battle  which  is 


THE    DOMINE  7 

not  to  the  strong.  On  their  wedding-day  the  bride  had  given 
her  soldier-husband  Bunyan's  Holy  War  —  a  Dutch  transla- 
tion— substituting  it  on  his  table  for  the  weathen-beaten  little 
Thucydides  which  had  been  his  companion  in  all  his  cam- 
paigns. He  had  demanded  back  the  Greek  historian.  He  now 
took  up  the  spiritual  conflict,  and  fought  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, as  he  had  ever  met  an  enemy,  at  arm's-length. 

His  mutilation  having  incapacitated  him  from  active  service, 
he  took  orders,  henceforth  to  do  battle  with  his  country's  in- 
most foes  in  the  heart  of  every  parishioner.  The  old  militant 
spirit  flamed  in  him  still,  and  he  led  his  slow  flock  like  a  regi- 
ment under  the  banner  of  the  great  Captain.  On  the  high  days 
of  the  Church  he  wore  his  Cross  of  the  Legion  in  the  pulpit. 
His  clerical  superiors  had  objected  :  he  dared  them  to  object. 
It  was  gained,  he  said,  like  their  reverend  titles,  in  honorable 
war. 

He  had  cherished  the  solitary  treasure  of  his  heart,  but  his 
care  had  been  free  from  coddling  ;  he  had  even  combated  the 
enervating  influence  of  his  sister-in-law,  who  kept  house  for 
him.  "  Coolness  and  cold  water  "  was  one  of  his  maxims  in  any 
sudden  emergency ;  late  into  the  autumn  you  could  have  seen 
the  gaunt  father  and  the  little  solemn-featured  girl  wending 
their  way  towards  the  river  for  a  swim.  The  bathless  villagers 
watched  and  wondered.  They  judged  the  good  man  to  be  a  lit- 
tle daft,  no  doubt,  but  they  loved  his  cheery  helpfulness.  Doz- 
ing on  the  battle-field,  they  caught,  between  two  yawns,  the  stir 
of  his  reveille^  and  its  clarion  note  passed  like  a  breeze  through 
the  foulness  of  their  sleeping-ditch. 

Then  they  turned  in  the  trenches  and  fell  asleep  again. 

Ursula  learned  early  that  life  was  no  dream-garden.  "  Duty, 
like  a  stern  preceptor,"  often  pushed  himself  unpleasantly  to  the 
fore  in  her  young  existence  and  extinguished  the  sunlight,  pro- 
voking thunder-storms.  Not  that  these  were  by  any  means  the 
rule  ;  her  father  loved  her  too  tenderly  for  that ;  he  kissed  her 
leisurely  upon  the  forehead.  "  Be  sober,"  he  said,  "  be  vigi- 
lant."    Her  aunt  gave  her  sweets. 

Yet  Ursula,  from  a  two-year-old  baby,  loved  her  father  best. 
Even  when,  once,  he  chastised  her  because  she  had  told  a  lie. 


8  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

*'  Gerard  will  be  late  for  the  train,"  said  the  pastor.  "  Head- 
long, as  usual.  Either  he  will  get  there  too  late  or  he  will  drive 
too  fast." 

"  He  will  drive  too  fast,"  replied  Ursula,  quietly.  "  Tell  me, 
father,  about  this  elder  brother  of  his.  How  strange  it  will 
seem  !  A  new  son  at  the  house  whom  nobody  knows.  I  wish 
he  were  not  coming." 

"  I  have  told  you  before,  Ursula,  but  women  are  so  reso- 
lutely curious.  A  man's  cui'iosity  is  impulse,  a  woman's  is 
method.  Besides,  you  remember  him  yourself;  he  was  here 
twelve  years  ago." 

"  I  don't  remember  much,  only  a  quiet,  kind-looking  gentle- 
man who  seemed  afraid  of  children.  What  had  he  been  doing 
in  Germany,  Captain  ?" 

*'  Earning  his  daily  bread,  no  more  and  no  less." 

"  And  what  has  he  been  doing  these  twelve  years  in  Java?" 

"  Earning  his  daily  bread,  not  less,  but  no  more." 

"  I  know,"  mused  Ursula,  with  feminine  inconsistency.  "  It 
seems  so  ridiculous,  a  Van  Helmont  earning  his  living." 

But  this  was  a  red  rag  to  a  bull.  "  It  is  never  ridiculous !" 
cried  the  pastor.  "  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread  ;"  that 
means  :  we  would  accept  it,  Lord,  from  no  other  hands  than 
Thine  !" 

"  As  manna  ?"  queried  Ursula. 

"  No,  child,  as  the  harvest  of  toil.  By-the-bye  " —  the  old 
man  stood  still  on  the  veranda  steps,  his  limp  sleeve  hanging 
against  his  long  black  coat — "  it  is  a  strange  coincidence,  my 
preaching  to-morrow's  sermon,  and  Otto  coming  home  to-day. 
The  Sabbath  before  he  first  started  for  Germany  I  preached  on 
resisting  the  devil." 

Ursula  smiled,  a  harmless  little  smile,  all  to  herself. 

"  I  remember  it  as  if  it  were  yesterday,"  continued  the  Dom- 
ine,  thoughtfully  watching  a  wheeling  swallow.  "  Do  you  know, 
Ursula,  why  Otto  van  Helmont  went  away  ?" 

"  No,"  she  responded,  quickly  inquisitive.     "  Tell  me  why." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  it  was  some  love-story  ?" 

"No,"  she  said  again.  "Why  should  I  think?  I  don't 
know." 


THE    DOMINE  9 

"  You  are  not  like  other  girls,  Ursula.  Most  women  think 
everything-  is  a  love-story.     Come,  let  us  go  in." 

"  But  he  is  quite  old  now  ?"  she  persisted,  with  her  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  He  is  what  children  call  old.  I  believe  he  is  seventeen 
years  older  than  Gerard.  I  have  always  liked  Otto  exceedingly, 
little  as  I  know  of  him.  He  is  a  true,  simple-hearted  gentle- 
man, is  Otto." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a  shade  of  petulance  ; 
"  but  it  will  be  so  awkward,  a  stranger  at  the  house  !" 

"  I  wish  you  would  close  the  veranda  door,  Roderigue,"  said 
a  querulous  voice  from  inside.  *'  You  are  letting  in  all  the 
heat." 

The  occupant  of  the  room  came  forward,  a  little  yellow  lady, 
with  red  ringlets,  in  a  red  wrapper.  This  was  Miss  Mopius,  the 
Domine's  sister-in-law,  and  an  invalid. 

"  I  had  kept  down  the  temperature  so  beautifully,"  she  com- 
plained, during  the  performance  of  the  usual  perfunctory  pecks. 
*'  What's  the  use  of  my  scolding  the  servant  if  she  sees  that  you 
don't  care?  Look  at  the  thermometer,  Ursula;  it  was  under 
65°." 

Ursula  obediently  reported  that  it  was  now  nearing  67°. 

"  You  see,"  said  Miss  Mopius.  She  said  nothing  else,  but  the 
words  dragged  down  upon  the  little  room  a  fearful  weight  of 
guilty  silence,  from  which  Ursula  fled  to  wash  her  hands. 

As  the  girl  was  coming  down-stairs  again,  she  heard  the  rum- 
ble of  returning  wheels.  She  could  not  resist  a  swift  run  to  the 
veranda,  where  she  had  abandoned  her  basket.  As  she  caught 
it  up  the  dog-cart  came  flying  past.  The  two  brothers  were  in 
it  now.  The  elder  turned  sideways,  started,  hesitated,  took  off 
his  hat.  Ursula  remained  watching  them,  a  symphony  in  yel- 
low and  brown,  with  the  marigolds  at  her  feet  in  a  lake  of 
golden  orange,  and  the  pink-tipped  honeysuckle  all  around  her, 
against  the  staring  sunflowers  loud  and  bold. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOME 

'*  Who  is  that  yellow-frock  among  the  yellow  flowers  ?"  asked 
Otto  van  Hclmont.  "  But,  of  course,  I  can  guess,"  he  added,  im- 
mediately. "  That  was  the  parsonage  we  just  passed.  The 
*  nut-brown  maid  '  must  be  Ursula  Rovers." 

"  Ursula  ?  Was  she  there  still  ?"  replied  Gerard,  flicking  a  fly 
from  the  horse's  flank.  "  She  seems  to  live  in  the  garden. 
Doesn't  care  tuppence  about  her  complexion." 

"  She  is  very  remarkably  beautiful." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  never  noticed.  You  see,  I  have 
known  her  all  my  life.  She  is  just  the  parson's  daughter.  I 
suppose  she  reminds  you  of  your  own  Javanese." 

Otto  flushed,  and  the  two  drove  on,  side  by  side,  in  silence. 
They  were  very  unlike  to  look  at;  there  must  have  been,  as 
Domine  Rovers  had  said,  from  fifteen  to  twenty  years'  interval 
between  them.  The  young  man  was  spruce  and  slender,  care- 
lessly elegant  in  appearance  and  attitude,  the  elder  brother, 
the  planter,  sat  square  and  stalwart,  with  ruddy  skin  and  tawny 
beard.  He  was  coming  home  for  rest,  weary  of  the  jaded 
splendor  of  the  tropics.  As  they  drove  on,  he  turned  right  and 
left,  with  eager,  misty  eyes.  The  salute  of  the  passing  peas- 
ants delighted  him  ;  he  watched,  in  quiet  ecstasy,  their  long- 
drawn  glances  of  inquiry  or  semi-acknowledgment.  This  was 
better  than  the  humbly  crouching  savages  under  the  cocoa- 
trees.     This  was  recognition  ;  this  was  home. 

The  avenue  was  home,  the  white  house  behind  the  trees  was 
home,  and  the  clasp  of  his  mother's  arms — no,  that  was  home. 
Never  mind,  for  one  moment,  the  rest. 

"  You  have  gray  hairs  here  and  there.  Otto,"  said  the  Baron- 


HOME  11 

CSS  van  Helmont,  fondly.  "  I  never  knew  I  was  an  old  woman 
before." 

Otto's  father  bent  down  quickly  and  kissed  her  slender  hand. 

"  My  dear,  you  will  never  grow  old,"  he  said.  "  You  belong 
to  the  things  of  beauty,  and  you  remember  what  the  English 
poet  said  of  them.'''' 

The  little  porcelain  lady  laughed  among  the  laces  of  her 
morning-gown. 

"  Yes,  but  the  French  poet  said  just  the  reverse,  and  in  mat- 
ters of  beauty  the  Frenchman  is  the  better  judge." 

"  Well,  let  Otto  be  umpire.  He  is  best  able  to  decide. 
Otto,  do  you  find  that  your  mother  has  grown  a  day  older  since 
you  left?" 

The  old  Baron  looked  towards  his  big  son  with  what,  on  his 
easy  features,  was  almost  an  anxious  expression. 

"  Yes,  she  is  older,"  said  Otto. 

The  Baroness  laughed  again. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  '*  he  is  as  impossible  as  ever.  Leave 
him.     He,  at  least,  has  not  changed." 

Mynheer  van  Helmont  dropped  his  eyelids  with  a  quick 
movement  of  vexation,  and  walked  from  the  room. 

Mother  and  son  were  left  together.  They  went  into  the 
Baroness's  little  turret-chamber,  a  rounded  bonbonniere,  all  pale 
flowered  silk  and  Dresden  china,  with  a  long  window  overlook- 
ing the  park. 

"  Sit  down,  child,"  said  the  Baroness.  "  Are  you  glad  to  be 
home  again  ?" 

A  lump  in  the  strong  man's  throat  prevented  immediate 
reply.  Presently  he  took  his  mother's  jewelled  fingers  in  his 
own.  "  And  what  have  you  been  doing  all  this  time  ?"  he 
said. 

"Doing?  But,  my  dear,  we  have  been  living.  What  else 
should  we  do  ?  It  is  you  Avho  have  shot  the  tigers.  Nothing 
has  happened  here." 

"  Grandpa  is  dead,"  said  Otto,  meditatively. 

"  Ah,  yes,  grandpapa  is  dead.  That  is  very  sad,  but  he  had 
been  childish  for  years.  He  lived  up-stairs  in  the  blue-room 
and  never  came  out  of  it.     He  did  not  know  us.     He  used  to 


12  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

mistake  me  for  some  horrid  recollection  of  his  youth,  and  call 
me  Niniche.     It  was  very  embarrassing." 

They  were  both  silent. 

"  Your  father  said  it  was  a  great  compliment,"  added  the 
Baroness,  gravely. 

"And  his  pension?  What  has  become  of  that?  How  did 
you  manage  ?     I  have  often  wanted  to  ask. 

"  Well,  of  course,  his  pension  went.  Your  father  had  always 
said  it  would  make  a  tremendous  difference.  I  cannot  say  I 
find  it  has." 

"  But  it  must,"  persisted  Otto. 

"  Of  course.  My  dear  boy,  have  you  still  your  old  liking 
for  business?  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  begin  talking  of  it  just 
yet." 

Otto  smiled. 

"  Come,  lean  your  head  on  my  lap  as  you  used  to  do.  Wait 
a  minute ;  you  will  spoil  my  dress." 

She  spread  out  a  flimsy  piece  of  cambric  which  could  have 
protected  nothing,  and  sat  softly  stroking  the  dark  hair  from 
his  face,  as  he  lay  on  the  rug. 

"  You  have  come  back  heart-whole  ?"  she  said,  presently,  but 
there  was  not  much  interrogation  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  mother."  The  tone  excluded  doubt ;  not  that  any  one 
ever  thought  of  doubting  Otto. 

"  Gerard  was  always  prophesying  that  you  would  bring  back 
a  *  nut-brown  '  wife." 

The  words  seemed  to  strike  home  strangely  to  Otto,  like  an 
echo.  "Gerard  appears  very  lively,"  he  said.  "  He  always  had 
exceedingly  high  spirits  as  a  boy.  But,  of  course,  I  hardly 
know  him." 

"  He  is  brightness  itself,"  said  the  Baroness.  "  He  is  like  a 
constant  sunbeam.  Dear  boy,  I  hope  he  will  make  an  advan- 
tageous settlement.  And  you  too,  dear  Otto,'I  wish  you  would 
marry  and  " — her  voice  grew  tremulous — "  stay  at  home." 

"  But,  mother,  I  must  first  find  a  wife."  He  spread  out  his 
fingers  contemplatively  on  the  white  plush  beneath  him,  among 
the  gold-embroidered  lilies. 

"  That  is  a  woman's  work,  not  a  man's.    It  is  a  mother's,  and 


HOME  13 

T  could  easily  manage  it.  A  man  should  find  all  his  loves  for 
himself,  except  the  one  he  marries  in  the  end." 

"  But  would  you  look  for  a  consort,  mother,  or  merely  for  a 
mule  with  money-bags  ?" 

*'  Otto,  how  rudely  you  put  things!  Contact  with  black  peo- 
ple has  not  improved  you.  I  should  look  for  an  angel,  worthy 
of  my  boy — an  angel  with  golden  wings."  She  paused,  and 
played  shyly  with  the  velvet  at  her  wrist.  "Indeed,  I  hope 
you  will  marry  a  little  money,"  she  added,  looking  away. 
"  You  father  expects  it.     And,  besides,  you  must." 

He  did  not  answer.  "  Gerard  is  going  to,"  she  added,  blush- 
ing over  the  pink-and-white  tints  of  her  delicate  cheek.  *'  He 
quite  understands  it  is  necessary.     He  is  doing  his  best." 

"  How  commendable  !"  cried  Otto,  sitting  up.  "  He  deserves, 
indeed,  that  his  gilt -feathered  seraph  should  bear  him  to  a 
matrimonial  heaven." 

The  Baroness  looked  placidly  alarmed.  "My  dear,"  she 
said,  "  don't,  I  beg  of  you,  go  spoiling  your  brother.  He 
takes  a  much  simpler  view  of  duty  than  you.  You  have  always 
complicated  existence,  poor  child.  You  were  a  steel-clanging 
knight.  Otto,  in  search  of  ogres ;  he  is  a  troubadour  under  Fort- 
une's window.     And  he  never  plays  out  of  tune." 

And  then  again  there  was  silence  between  them,  while  she 
drew  down  his  head  once  more.  But  their  thoughts  were  con- 
versing still. 

"  Marrying  for  money,"  he  continued  at  last,  and  his  voice 
was  black  with  scorn. 

"  Marrying  money  and  marrying  for  money  are  two  very 
different  things,"  rejoined  the  Baroness,  patiently,  "  as  you 
know.  I  should  not  like  Gerard  to  marry  for  money,  nor  you. 
You  never  will.     But  you  can  do  as  your  father  did." 

The  turret-chamber  was  cool,  yet  the  glowing  sun  from  out- 
side seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  cheeks  of  both  mother  and 
son. 

"  My  father  is  a  lucky  man,"  said  Otto.  "  But  supposing 
you  had  not  turned  out  to  be  you  V 

"  Then  there  would  not  have  been  money  enough.  As  it  is, 
we  had  a  little  love  and  a  little  money ;  that  is  the  best  blend  . 


14  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

on  the  whole,  to  commence  housekeeping  with.  Both,  I  sup- 
pose, should  go  on  increasing ;  with  us,  only  one  has  done  that." 

''  Nobody  has  ever  missed  the  money,"  interposed  Otto,  smil- 
ing pitifully  down  on  the  costly  rug  at  his  feet." 

"Ah,  you  say  that !  But  I  have  often  regretted  that  mamma's 
fortune  was  not  larger.  Papa,  you  remember,  had  squandered 
his  share.  Your  poor  father  might  have  got  many  things  he 
had  set  his  heart  upon,  and  which  now  he  is  compelled  to  go 
without." 

"  Yes,"  said  Otto,  "  the  house  would  have  been  twice  as  full 
again." 

"Exactly.  For  instance,  he  has  always  longed,  passion- 
ately, to  possess  a  *  Corot.'  He  has  never  been  able  to  procure 
one.  There  is  a  very  good  '  Daubigny  '  in  the  small  drawing- 
room.  By-the-bye,  it  is  new  ;  you  must  go  and  have  a  look 
at  it  presently.  But  the  poor  man  has  never  ventured  to  buy  a 
'  Corot.'  I  cannot  help  feeling  it  is  almost  my  fault.  Certainly 
grandpapa's.  Yet  he  was  always  so  considerate  to  grandpapa 
after  we  took  him  to  live  with  us,  never  reproaching  him  with 
word." 

Otto  did  not  ask.  What  is  a  '  Corot'  ?  He  lay  stroking  his 
mother's  hand.  Presently  he  started  to  his  feet  and  walked 
towards  the  window. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is!"  he  cried  ;  "how  lovely  !  Oh,  mother, 
the  sun-heat  across  the  park !" 

The  little  lady  came  dancing  after  him.  "  Yes,  is  it  not  ex- 
quisite ?"  she  cried,  standing  close  beside  him.  "  Look  at  the 
patch  of  yellow  color  there,  in  the  break  between  the  beeches. 
Why,  Otto,  since  when  do  you  notice  the  merely  beautiful? 
Do  you  see  that  far  line  of  white  roof  with  the  sun  full  upon 
it?  That  is  the  gallery  round  the  new  Italian  garden.  Well, 
not  exactly  new,  only  you  have  been  away  such  a  very  long 
time !" 

She  pressed  his  arm.  "  Now  go  down  to  your  father,"  she 
added,  softly.  "  Ask  him  to  show  you  the  '  Daubigny.'  And 
don't  talk  to  him  of  business.    You  know  he  doesn't  like  it." 

"  A  fortune  for  a  picture,"  said  Otto  to  himself  as  he  closed 
his  mother's  door,  "  while  I  was  out  in  Java  growing  tea !" 


HOME  15 

He  passed  along  a  corridor  which  was  hung  with  arms  of  all 
times  and  nations,  into  the  large  entrance-hall,  a  museum  of 
old  oak  and  heraldry  among  the  masses  of  summer  flowers. 

There  he  found  his  father  pacing  impatiently  to  and  fro. 
The  old  Baron,  whose  life  motto  had  been  "  Tout  s'arrange," 
was  only  impatient  about  things  of  no  importance.  He  was 
now  eager  to  show  his  son  the  acquisitions  of  the  last  twelve 
years.  He  knew  that  the  display  would  be  productive  of  pleas- 
ure neither  to  himself  nor  to  his  heir,  but  he  remained  eager 
all  the  same. 

The  returned  exile  —  his  heart  soft  with  the  morning's  im- 
pressions— resolved  at  once  to  take  an  interest  in  everything. 
"Mother  was  speaking  of  a  ,new  picture,  he  began,  "a  daub — 
daub-something.     She  said  I  must  be  sure  and  ask  to  see  it." 

The  Baron  smiled.  "  The  Daubigny,"  he  replied.  "  I  sup- 
pose the  name  has  not  penetrated  to  India  yet.  With  us,  you 
know,  he  has  made  himself  a  little  reputation."  He  led  the 
way  into  a  small  drawing-room,  but  stopped  before  pointing 
to  his  treasure.  "  Do  you  notice  any  change  here  ?"  he  asked. 
"  Anything  new  in  the  arrangement  of  the  whole  ?" 

Otto  hesitated.  He  was  horribly  ill  at  ease,  and  afraid  of 
making  a  fool  of  himself.  It  was  the  old  sensation  of  twelve 
years  ago.  He  felt  like  a  shy  man  that  doesn't  know  a  cob 
from  a  charger  suddenly  called  upon  to  judge  of  a  horse. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,"  said  the  Baron.  "Only  the  ceiling's 
been  painted.  It  was  done  by  Guicciardi,  the  same  who 
decorated  the  last  Loggia  in  the  Prelli  Palace  just  before  the 
poor  prince  went  smash.  That  was  a  magnificent  finale, 
Otto.  Poor  old  Prince  Luigi  knew  that  he  couldn't  possibly 
hold  out  much  longer — not  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  the 
good,  I  am  told.  And  he  gave  a  commission  to  Guicciardi 
to  paint  the  place  with  that  last  hundred  thousand,  just  finished 
the  thing  and  left  an  immortal  whole  to  his  country,  and  then 
— pwhit !"  The  Baron  snapped  his  fingers  lightly.  "  Pooh," 
he  said,  "  I  know  you  don't  care  for  that  kind  of  thing.  I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't  mean  to  give  you  offence.  That 
is  the  '  Daubigny.'  " 

Otto  stood  staring  at  the  little  golden  landscape.     He  was 


16  MY     LADY    NOBODY 

seeking  hard  for  something  sensible  to  say.  He  could  not  talk 
of  art  as  his  brother  Gerard  did,  vvliile  knowing  nothing  about  it, 
trustful  to  Fate  to  make  his  talk  no  greater  nonsense  than  that 
of  those  who  do  know. 

"It  didn't  cost  me  very  much,"  said  the  Baron,  a  little 
shamefacedly.  "  It  is  not,  of  course,  a  first-rate  specimen, 
though  I  flatter  myself  it  is  by  no  means  bad." 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Otto.  "  The  sky  is  something  like  a 
Javanese  sunrise." 

"  Really  ?  That  reminds  me,  I  have  some  beautiful  ivories 
in  the  west  room,  if  you  care  to  see  them.  Japanese,  but  they 
were  bought  at  Batavia.  What  wonderful  opportunities  you 
must  have  had,  had  you  only  known  !"  He  looked  wistfully  at 
his  son.     "  Dirt  cheap,  I  dare  say." 

"  I  don't  think  anything's  dirt  cheap  anywhere,"  replied  Otto. 
"  And  dirt  seems  the  most  expensive  of  all — in  the  end." 

He  shrank  back,  with  a  sudden  misgiving  of  his  own  mean- 
ing ;  but,  if  the  speech  were  discourteous,  the  Baron  quite  mis- 
understood it.  "  I  hope  you  have  got  into  no  entanglements," 
said  the  Baron,  sharply.  "  Although,  true,  it  is  not  the  expen- 
sive ones  that  are  the  most  dangerous.  We  expect  you  to 
marry  now,  Otto,  and  settle  down.  Your  mother  is  very 
anxious  you  should  marry  a  little  money.  I  sincerely  hope  you 
will." 

"  There  is  time  still,  father,"  said  Otto ;  "  I'm  only  just 
back." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  You  are  nearly  forty.  And  you  have 
wasted  a  great  many  years,  after  all.  Here  have  you  been  toil- 
ing in  Java,  working  hard  the  whole  time,  and  with  what 
result  ?  The  same  as  in  Germany  before.  You  might  just  as 
well  have  lived  leisurely  at  home,  and  better.  Your  cheeks 
would  have  been  less  brown,  and  your  manners  no  worse." 

He  faced  his  son ;  he  had  been  bracing  himself  for  this,  and 
he  was  astonished  to  find  it  came  so  easily.  "After  all,  I  think 
you  must  admit.  Otto,  that  we  easy-going  people  understand 
life  better  than  you." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  deny  it,  sir." 

"Well?" 


HOME  17 

"  Well  ?     I  have  tried  to  do  ray  duty — the  nearest  duty." 
"  Java  !     It  seems  to  me  your  duty  was  a  very   far   one. 
Well,  well,  we  are  heartily  glad  to  have  you  back.     Come  into 
the  smoking-room,  and  we  will  smoke  a  really  good  cigar." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    VAN    HELMONTS 

Baron  van  Helmont  could  have  dug  out  no  better  epithet  to 
apply  to  himself  and  his  race  than  the  word  which  rose  natu- 
rally to  the  top,  "  easy-going."  He  knew  he  was  "  easy-going." 
The  Van  Helmonts  had  always  been  that.  "  Stream  with  the 
stream."  "  Tout  s'arrange."  He  could  hear  his  grandfather 
saying  these  things  in  a  far-away  mist  of  Louis  XV.  powder 
and  ruffles ;  he  remembered  how  he  had  brought  home  his  Wat- 
teau-faced  bride,  and  how  the  old  gentleman,  bent  double  over 
his  gold-headed  cane,  had  blessed  the  pair,  with  a  sceptical 
grimace,  at  the  top  of  the  moss-grown  steps. 

"  My  children,"  he  had  said,  "  you  have  launched  your  boat 
on  the  current.  However  you  steer,  the  river  flows  to  the  sea. 
Take  an  old  man's  advice.     Let  it  flow.     Laissez  couler." 

Said  the  young  wife  to  her  husband,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone,  "  But  '  laissez  couler '  means  *  let  the  boat  sinky  "  and 
she  laughed  the  prettiest  protest  into  his  face.  She  had  plenty 
of  brains. 

He  stopped  her  mouth  with  a  kiss.  "  You  are  too  young  a 
married  woman,"  he  replied,  "  to  study  '  equivoques.'  "  He, 
also,  had  plenty  of  brains,  but  neither  had  the  art  of  using  them. 

The  old  gentleman,  his  grandfather,  had  made  a  tranquil 
ending;  he  had  lain  on  his  death-bed  unruffled  except  at  the 
wrists.  His  was  surely  a  bright  civilization  with  its  "  What 
does  it  signify  ?"  Our  self-clouded  century  repeats  the  words, 
but  with  passionate  inquiry.  And,  after  all,  so  many  things 
that  torment  us  signify  so  exceedingly  little.  Yet,  perhaps, 
none  the  less,  we  are  wiser  than  our  grandfathers,  for  "  it,"  in 
their  case,  signified  the  French  Revolution. 


THE    VAN    HELMONTS  19 

The  present  Baron  van  Helmont  could  not,  of  course,  be 
"pure  Louis  XV."  ^Jone  of  us  can,  not  even  our  clocks. 
You  are  unable — it  is  a  stale  truth — to  push  back  the  hand  on 
the  dial.  The  Baron,  for  instance,  could  not  contemplate  dis- 
solution with  the  composure  of  his  grandsire.  He  tried  hard 
not  to  contemplate  it  at  all.  "  Live  and  let  live  "  was  one  of 
his  favorite  sayings.  One  day,  long  ago,  he  had  used  it  to 
close  the  discussion  with  regard  to  a  case  which  had  recently 
occurred  in  his  village  of  what  he  would  have  labelled  "  unavoid- 
able distress."  His  hobbledehoy  of  a  son — the  only  one  then — 
had  suddenly  joined  in  the  conversation.  "  But  that  means," 
the  boy  Otto  had  said,  "  live  well  yourself,  and  let  the  poor 
live  badly."  It  was  the  first  symptom.  The  father  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  Otto  must  have  been,  if  we  use  the  scientific  jargon 
of  our  day,  a  reversion  to  an  anterior  type.  To  judge  by  the 
discrepancy  of  any  half  a  dozen  brothers,  most  families  must 
possess  a  good  many  types  to  revert  to. 

The  Baron  van  Helmont  was  a  good  man,  lovable,  and  uni- 
versally respected.  In  his  youth  he  had  enjoyed  himself  and 
spent  freely  as  a  young  gentleman  should  do.  He  had  been 
gay,  but  no  irretrievable  scandal  had  ever  been  mixed  up  with 
his  name.  He  had  married  a  charming  wife,  who  had  brought 
him  a  little  more  money.  They  had  spent  that  together,  and 
had  quietly  enjoyed  the  spending;  but  their  friends  and  connec- 
tions had  been  permitted  to  enjoy  it  too.  The  Baron  had  one 
of  the  finest  collections  of  curios  in  the  Netherlands,  and  also 
some  very  good  pictures.  He  was  a  gentleman  to  his  finger- 
tips, and  thoroughly  cultivated.  No  one  could  possibly  be  a 
better  judge  of  bric-a-brac. 

"  Bric-a-brac,"  said  the  Baroness  to  the  pastor,  "  is  in  itself  a 
vocation  ;  and  the  best  judge  of  bric-a-brac  in  Holland  is  better 
than  a  taker  of  cities."  She  spoke  under  strong  provocation. 
At  intervals  the  Domine  would  make  himself  superfluous  by 
speaking  in  the  Manor-house  drawing-room  of  "righteousness, 
temperance,  and  judgment  to  come."  "  As  if  we  got  drunk," 
said  the  Baroness. 

Undeniably,  the  Baron  was  a  gentleman,  courteous  and 
comely.     There  is  a  story  about  him  which  he  loved  to  tell  in 


20  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

the  privacy  of  his  after-dinner  circle.  It  happened  in  Paris,  at 
the  court  of  the  Citizen  King.  The  Baron,  passing  through 
that  promiscuous  capital,  had  received  a  card  for  a  monster 
reception.  He  went,  and  somehow  got  astray  in  the  crush  at 
the  entrance,  so  that  when  he  tried  to  pass  in  at  a  side  door  he 
found  himself  stopped  by  a  gentleman-at-arms. 

"  Excuse  me,  monsieur ;  but  this  door  is  reserved  for  the  mem- 
bers of  reigning  families." 

The  Baron  hesitated.  To  withdraw  was  absurd.  He  straight- 
ened himself  in  his  small  but  serene  hauteur. 

"  And  who  am  I,  then  ?"  he  said. 

"  Entrez,  mon  prince." 

But  that  was  long  ago,  unfortunately.  Even  while  the  Bar- 
on said  "  Stream,"  he  regretted  that  his  life  could  not  lie  stag- 
nant in  a  bay,  among  water-lilies.  And  yet  he  hurried  on  each 
individual  day  to  its  close.  He  was  always  wanting  to  pick 
other  flowers  a  little  farther  down  the  bank. 

Two  sons  were  left  him  at  the  close  of  his  life,  and  one  of 
these  was  already  annoyingly  old.  Between  the  two  lay  a  couple 
of  hillocks  in  the  village  church-yard.  The  Baroness  had  begged 
to  rescue  the  small  relics  therein  contained  from  the  musty  fam- 
ily vault.  "  The  vault  is  so  cold,"  she  said.  Her  husband  proved 
quite  willing  to  adopt  the  suggestion  ;  he  availed  himself  of  the 
opportunity  it  gave  him  to  put  up  a  charming  Italian  marble  of 
a  cherub  gathering  flowers.  The  "  Devil's  Doll,"  the  Calvinist 
villagers  called  it.  Occasionally,  when  her  husband  was  not 
attending,  the  Baroness  would  go  and  weep  a  few  quiet  tears 
upon  the  hillocks.  There  was  a  chamber  in  her  heart  which  she 
occasionally  liked  to  enter,  but  she  never  had  much  objection  to 
coming^  out  aorain. 

"  I  met  Ursula  this  afternoon.  Otto,"  said  Gerard  at  dinner. 
"  I  told  her  she  had  aroused  your  enthusiastic  admiration.  I 
fancy  she  was  very  much  pleased."  He  laughed ;  the  others 
laughed. 

Otto's  bent  face  sank  lower  beneath  a  sudden  thunder-cloud. 
"  That  was  an  ungentlemanly  thing  to  do,"  he  said. 

"  Ungentlemanly !"      The   younger  brother's  voice  had   en- 


THE    VAN    HELMONTS  21 

tirely  clianged  its  key.  "  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  How 
dare  you  say  such  a  thing  as  that  ?" 

A  man-servant  was  in  the  room.  The  remarks  had  been  made 
in  Dutch.  The  man  would  have  understood  them  in  French, 
but  that  would  not  have  mattered. 

"  I  mean,"  responded  Otto,  rather  awkwardly,  floundering 
into  the  foreign  language  to  which  his  plantation  life  had 
somewhat  choked  the  inlets,  "  that  it  is  a  shabby  thing  to  do, 
to  go  and  tell  a  lady  what  a  man  has  said  of  her  in  con- 
fidence." 

"My  dear,  not  if  it  be  a  compliment,"  interposed  the  Baron- 
ess, mildly  ignoring,  as  her  sex  was  bound  to  do,  the  all-impor- 
tant concluding  words.  "  Every  woman  likes  a  harmless  com- 
pliment." 

"Not  sensible  women.  Sensible  women  despise  them," 
edged  in  the  Freule^  van  Borck.     Nobody  heeded  her. 

"  Confidence  !  Confidence  !  "  echoed  Gerard,  hotly.  "  Who 
talked  of  confidence  ?"  He  lapsed,  purposely,  into  Dutch.  "  I 
decline  to  be  told,"  he  said,  "  whether  at  my  father's  table  or 
anywhere  else,  that  I  behave  in  an  '  ungentlemanly  '  manner." 

The  old  Baron  waved  a  conciliatory  hand.  "  The  word  was 
unfortunate,"  he  admitted,  "  but,  Gerard,  you  press  too  heavily 
upon  it.  Glissez,  n''appui/ez  pas.  Otto  meant  to  say  you  had 
stolen  an  unfair  advantage.  He  had  doubtless  been  wanting  to 
tell  Ursula  himself.  Fie,  what  an  ado  about  nothing.  To  me 
it  is  most  remarkable  that,  after  so  long  an  absence,  Otto  should 
still  speak  Dutch  so  well." 

The  obvious  retort  that  Dutch  is  spoken  in  Java  sprang 
straight  to  Gerard's  lips,  but  he  bit  it  down  again. 

"  I  consider  Ursula  Rovers  distinctly  plain,"  remarked  the 
Freule  van  Borck.  The  Freule  was  the  Baroness  van  Hel- 
mont's  only  sister ;  she  had  lived  at  the  Manor-house  for  years. 
She  was  what  humdrum  people  call  "a  character,"  as  if  all  of 
us  were  not  that  when  you  shift  the  lights. 

"  She  is  common-looking,"  said  the  Baroness,  "  but  I  think 
she  is  pretty." 

*  Title  of  unmarried  ladies  of  rank. 


22  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  All  women  are  pretty,"  smiled  the  Baron,  "  even  those 
whom  the  pretty  ones  think  plain." 

"  My  dear,"  his  wife  nodded  across  at  him,  "  it  is  a  fallacy, 
old  as  Adam,  that  Eve,  in  her  Paradise,  is  jealous  of  all  the 
Liliths  outside." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !"  cried  the  sharp  -  faced  Freule  van 
Borck,  "there  are  women  enough  yet — thank  Heaven — and  to 
spare,  that  don't  care  a  cent  about  looks." 

Her  sister  puckered  up  a  small  mouth  into  a  most  innocent 
expression.  "  If  it  be  so,"  she  said,  suavely,  "  it  is  a  merciful 
dispensation.     God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 

The  two  brothers  sat  in  silence,  not  so  much  sullen  as  con- 
strained. Presently  the  father  proposed  the  health  of  the  one 
who  had  that  day  returned  to  them.  "  We  celebrate,"  he  said, 
with  good-natured  banter,  " /e  retour  du  fils  prodigue,  trop 
prodigue — de  lui-mhne.''^ 

After  the  toast  had  been  honored,  he  turned  to  his  Benja- 
min. "  You,  sir,"  he  said,  "  prefer  the  fruits  of  other  people's 
labors.  You  take  after  your  father.  And,  when  the  time  comes, 
precious  little  you  will  find  to  take."  They  both  laughed  heart- 
ily enough  this  time,  and  the  whole  family  rose  from  table. 

Otto  came  out  to  Gerard  on  the  terrace.  "  I  am  sorry  I 
offended  you,"  he  said ;  "  I  meant  to  be  angry,  but  not  to  be 
insulting." 

Gerard's  face  cleared  like  a  pool  when  the  sun  comes  out. 
He  gave  his  brother's  hand  a  hearty  grasp.  "  Don't  speak  of 
it  again,"  he  said.  "  I  dare  say  I  was  wrong,  though  Heaven 
knows  I  didn't  mean  to  annoy  you.  You  will  find  me,  some- 
times, a  little  thoughtless,  I  fear.  You  mustn't  always  take 
things  quite  as  seriously  as  to-day,  though.  I  wish  you  would 
come  down  to  the  stables  with  me,  Otto ;  you  haven't  even 
seen  my  saddle-horses  yet." 

Mynheer  van  Helmont,  standing  cigar  in  mouth  before  the 
great  bay  window,  turned  and  nodded  to  his  wife. 

"  They  are  friends  again,"  he  said.  "  Isn't  it  dreadful  ?  That 
is  the  worst  thing  that  can  happen  to  brothers." 

''  What  is  ?"  queried  the  Freule  van  Borck. 

"  Why,  to  be  friends  again." 


THE    VAN    HELMONTS  23 

"  I  like  Otto  very  much,"  said  the  Freule,  irrelevantly,  not 
comprehending. 

Mevrouw  van  Helmont  laid  down  her  bit  of  fluffy  fancy-work. 
"  Of  course  you  like  Otto  very  much,  Louisa,"  she  said.  "  I 
should  be  exceedingly  vexed  did  you  not." 

The  Baron  walked  out  into  the  after-glow.  "  It  is  most  irritat- 
ing," he  mused,  "to  have  to  say  all  one's  good  things  to  an  au- 
dience one-half  of  which  is  deaf  to  all  meanings,  and  the  other 
half  of  which  is  one's  wife." 

He  stood  looking  at  the  white  pile  which  lay  softly  imbos- 
omed  in  its  dark  green  half-circle,  like  a  pearl  set  in  emeralds, 
beneath  the  amber  sky.  He  was  deeply  proud  of  its  posses- 
sion. "  These  Havanas,"  he  reflected,  "  are  as  excellent  as  if 
they  were  genuine,"  and  he  wreathed  a  faint  blue  whorl  on 
the  tranquil  air.  Then  another  thought  struck  a  sudden  chill 
to  his  heart.  "  To  die  and  leave  it  all !"  He  shivered,  and  re- 
turned to  the  window.  ''  Louisa,"  he  said,  "  how  about  our 
piquet?" 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Otto  stood  on  the  same  terrace,  also 
cigar  in  mouth.  He  had  come  out  for  a  last  smoke  before 
turning  in.  He  was  an  inveterate  and  uninterrupted  smoker. 
It  was  his  one  weakness,  and  he  indulged  it  to  the  full. 

The  night  was  perfectly  still,  and  translucent.  A  soft  flut- 
ter, that  was  not  wind,  but  the  very  restlessness  of  dreaming 
nature,  weighted  the  balmy  air  with  wandering  gusts  of  in- 
cense. All  creation  seemed  lapped  in  luxury,  asleep  on  the 
breast  of  love. 

Otto,  alone  in  the  dusk,  looked  up  at  the  silent  windows.  The 
rest  were  gone  to  their  rooms ;  a  light  glimmered  here  and  there. 
The  great  stable-clock  boomed  heavily  eleven  long  trembling 
strokes.  "  It  is  home,"  said  Otto,  under  his  breath.  But  he 
said  it  aloud.  He  rejoiced  with  tumultuous  delight  for  a  mo- 
ment in  being  able  to  speak  to  that  home  from  a  spot  where 
the  bricks  and  mortar  could  hear  him.  His  memory  strayed 
away  to  the  low  house  with  the  long  verandas  among  the 
spreading  palms.  How  often  had  he  lain  back  in  there  in  his 
wicker  lounge,  his  cigar  a  deep  red  spot  of  attraction  among 


24  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

the  insect  whirl  of  the  Indian  night,  while  he  said  the  word  out 
vainly  to  the  bats  and  moths  and  butterflies.  Home.  He  stood 
and  looked — looked  at  the  mere  walls  till  his  eyes  were  burn- 
ing with  physical  exhaustion.  He  was  back  again  at  last.  He 
loved  his  mother  very  faithfully.  He  loved  his  father.  He 
felt  kindly  towards  his  brother.  Yet,  somehow,  he  could  not 
control  an  impression  of  loneliness  as  he  turned  to  go  up- 
stairs. 


CHAPTER  V 

LE    PREMIER    PAS QUI    COUTE 

"  Gird  up  your  loins  !"  cried  the  Domine,  striking  his  only 
hand  into  the  pulpit-cushion.  The  peasant  congregation,  with 
bodies  huddled  awry  in  wondrously  diversified  angles  of  drowsi- 
ness, nodded  lower  under  the  accustomed  storm.  One  red- 
faced  yawner,  opening  misty  eyes,  stared  vaguely  through  the 
heat -cloud,  and  with  some  far  perception  of  the  preacher's 
meaning,  hitched  up  his  trousers  before  sinking  back  into  his 
seat. 

"  For  the  city  of  Mansoul  is  taken,  is  taken  while  the  garrison 
slept !"  In  the  Manor-house  pew,  under  the  glitter  of  armorial 
gaudery  against  sombre  oak,  sat  their  Baronial  Highnesses,  all 
except  Gerard,  who,  coming  down  too  late,  had  found  himself 
compelled  to  elect  between  breakfast  and  church.  Their  High- 
nesses preserved  an  exemplary  attitude  of  erect  attention.  It  is 
even  quite  possible  that  the  Freule  Louisa  was  listening. 

To  Otto  the  little  barn-like  building,  in  its  white  unchanged- 
ness,  had  brought  that  sudden  quietude  of  soul  which  comes 
upon  us  when  the  rush  of  life  has  briefly  cast  us  back  into  a 
long-remembered  harbor.  It  was  good  to  be  here.  It  was  good 
to  find  nothing  altered,  neither  the  gaunt  externals  of  the  ser- 
vice, nor  the  inharmonious  music,  nor  even  the  long  discourse. 
It  was  good  to  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  dutiful  curiosity 
which  played  about  the  heir  until  at  last  it  also  sank,  half-sated, 
beneath  the  all-oppressive  heat.  The  crimson  farm-wives  sat 
perspiring  under  their  great  Sunday  towers  of  gold-hung  em- 
broidery. There  was  not  a  cool  spot  in  the  building,  except 
Ursula's  muslin  frock. 

As  his  eye  rested  there.  Otto  felt  that  one  change  at  least 


26  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

made  itself  manifest.  Where  a  little  lonely  child  had  formerly 
faced  the  Manor-house  pew,  a  maiden  now  sat,  calm  and  self- 
possessed,  her  gaze  neither  seeking  nor  avoiding  his  own.  And 
suddenly  he  realized  that  he  was  growing  old. 

He  realized  it  all  the  more  when,  presently,  he  found  himself 
walking  back  by  the  side  of  the  parson's  daughter,  through 
wide  stretches  of  sun  -  soaked  corn.  The  older  people  had 
passed  ahead,  unconsciously  hurried  forward  by  the  sweeping 
stride  of  the  Domine.  In  that  opening  search  for  words  which 
always  disturbs  the  meeting  of  long-acquainted  strangers,  Otto's 
soul  swelled  anew  with  wrath  against  the  brother  whose  indis- 
cretion had  doubly  tied  either  tongue. 

"Yes,  everything  is  exactly  as  it  used  to  be,"  he  replied  to 
Ursula's  perfunctory  question,  when  it  ultimately  blossomed 
forth  from  the  marsh  of  their  embarrassment.  "  That  struck 
me  more  especially  this  morning  in  church.  The  people  are 
pretty  much  the  same,  of  course ;  at  least,  they  look  it.  And  so 
is  the  whole  appearance  of  the  place,  and  the  odor  of  the  fustian 
and  the  service." 

"  And  the  sermon  ?"  she  laughed,  lamely,  thinking  also  of 
Gerard's  banter,  and  annoyed  by  her  annoyance. 

But  his  face  clouded  over.  She  noticed  this,  and  it  put  her 
still  less  at  her  ease.  She  hurriedly  added  something  about  her 
father's  "  coincidence,"  thereby  causing  her  companion  to  write 
her  down  insincere. 

"  Nevertheless,"  she  continued,  desperately,  feeling  all  the 
while  that  she  might  just  as  well,  and  far  better,  keep  silence, 
"  twelve  years  seems  to  me  a  most  tremendous  time." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  young." 

"  Young  or  not,  people  change  in  twelve  years." 

Gerard  would  have  availed  himself  of  this  palpable  opportunity 
to  suggest  something  pretty  ;  clumsy  Otto  merely  made  answer, 
"  My  grandfather  is  dead."  The  most  tragic  words  can  somehow 
sound  funny,  and  Ursula,  in  her  nervousness,  very  nearly  laughed. 

"  I  miss  him,"  continued  Otto,  quite  unconsciously.  "  He 
wasn't — childish,  you  know,  when  I  went  away.  How  the  poor 
old  man  would  have  enjoyed  some  talks  about  my  tiger-hunts. 
He  was  such  a  splendid  shot." 


LE  PREMIER  PAS QUI  COUTE  27 

"  Have  you  really  shot  tigers  ?" 

"  Yes."  A  man  always  feels  foolish  under  such  a  question  as 
that. 

»  Many  ?" 

"  That  depends  on  your  ideas  of  proportion.  Tigers  must 
not  be  confounded  with  rabbits.  I  have  shot  enough  to  be  able 
to  beg  your  father's  acceptance  of  a  skin  when  my  boxes 
come." 

They  walked  on  for  some  minutes  in  silence,  awkward  si- 
lence, she  flicking  at  the  corn  -  ears  with  her  white  parasol. 
Then  she  said,  "  I  feel  sorry  for  the  tiger." 

He  answered,  dryly,  "  The  parents  of  his  final  supper  did  not 
take  that  view." 

"  But,"  he  added,  *'  I  dare  say  you  don't  quite  understand 
about  wild  beasts,  or  heathen  countries.  I  shouldn't  wonder, 
Juffrouw  Rovers,  if  you  had  never  even  crossed  the  frontier." 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  she  answered,  shortly,  much  put  out  by  his 
innocent  patronage,  ''and  I  am  glad  I  haven't.  I  should 
hate  to  come  back  as  people  do,  finding  all  things  small  at 
home.  And,  above  all,  I  should  hate  to  go  to  India — a  horrible 
place  with  spiders  as  big  as  my  sunshade,  and  a  python  curled 
up,  perhaps,  under  one's  pillow  of  nights.  You  needn't  laugh ; 
I  may  have  forgotten  the  dreadful  creatures'  names,  but  I  know 
they're  there,  for  my  Uncle  Mopius  told  me." 

"Ah,  yes,  your  Uncle  Mopius.  He  was  out  in  Java,  wasn't 
he  ?" 

"Yes,  he  was  notary  there,  and  he  tells  the  most  awful 
stories." 

"Then  don't  believe  them.  So  you  would  never  go  to 
India?" 

"  Never." 

"  Well,  it's  a  good  thing  there's  no  necessity.  I  had  to,  you 
see.  People  even  face  pythons,  when  they  must.  And  there's 
always  the  fun  of  killing  them." 

She  shuddered.  "  The  fun  of  killing,"  she  repeated,  "  I  can- 
not understand  at  all.  We  are  speaking  different  languages, 
Mynheer  van  Helmont.  I  hate  the  idea  of  killing  anything. 
And  do  you  know  what  I  hate  still  more  ?      It  is  what  you  call 


28  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

*  a  splendid  shot.'  Gerard  is  a  splendid  shot,  like  his  grand- 
father ;  the  finest,  they  say,  in  the  province.  Yes,  1  can't  help 
it ;  I've  often  told  him."  She  plunged  headlong.  "  I  dare  say 
you're  a  splendid  shot.  But  it's  just  my  hobby.  To  go  creep, 
creeping  through  God's  creation,  a  gun  in  one's  hand,  seeking 
some  innocent  life  you  may  slay  for  the  pleasure  of  slaying ! 
Or,  still  worse,  to  sit  in  a  chair  and  have  the  poor  fluttering 
wretches  driven  in  quantities  on  to  one's  barrels !  It's  the  one 
thing  that  spoils  the  country  for  me,  and  only  in  the  autumn  I 
long  to  get  away  from  Horstwyk.  There's  no  shooting  in 
towns." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  real  sport,"  he  answered,  with  provoking 
meekness,  "but  I  dare  say  you  are  right." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  real  sport  means !"  she  cried,  and  her 
eyes  flashed.  "  Hallooing  after  some  little  palpitating  victim 
with  beagles  or  harriers  or  hounds !  You  may  think  me  very 
stupid — I  dare  say  you  do — but  I  wouldn't  shake  hands,  if  I 
could  help  it,  with  a  man  whom  I  knew  to  have  voluntarily 

*  hunted '  anything.  As  for  women,  I  can't  believe  they  do  it." 
She  broke  off,  in  that  nervous  "  unstrungness "  which  only 
comes  to  the  gentler  sex,  hardly  knowing,  after  her  sudden 
burst  of  eloquence,  whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  quite  right,"  he  said  again ;  but  in  his 
grave  regard  she  only  read  approval  of  her  callow  softness. 
They  had  reached  a  little  well-known  wicket,  and  he  stopped. 
The  path  went  twisting  away  at  this  spot  from  the  yellow 
fields  into  the  deep  recesses  of  the  park. 

"  I  think  we  separate  here  ?"  he  said,  and  to  her  amazement 
she  caught  a  touch  of  regret  in  his  tone. 

"  Yes,  as  a  rule.  But  papa  has  gone  on — in  honor  of  you,  I 
suppose." 

"  Then  you  cannot  do  better  than  follow."  He  held  open 
the  gate  for  her  to  pass.  "  I  think  you  must  forgive  me,"  he 
said,  with  downcast  eyes.  "  It  was  only  once.  In  Ireland.  And 
we  didn't  kill  the  fox." 

"  Because  you  couldn't,"  she  answered,  fiercely.  "  Or  do 
people  keep  foxes,  like  stags,  to  uncart  ?" 

Her  hand,  in  its  long  "  Suede  "  glove,  closed  almost  viciously 


LE  PREMIER  PAS QUI  COUTE  29 

on  the  filmy  folds  of  her  frock.  Not  another  word  was  ex- 
changed between  them  as  they  threaded  the  shady  mazes  of 
suddenly  delicious  green,  but  she  felt  that  he  was  watching  her 
all  the  time  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  A  good  man  enjoys 
the  arousing  a  womanly  woman's  righteous  indignation.  Her 
heart  beat  till  he  saw  it.     He  liked  that. 

"Ah,  Domine,  there  was  sense  in  your  sermon!"  cried  the 
Freule  van  Borck,  haranguing  everybody  in  a  group  on  the 
lawn.  "  What  I  enjoy  in  your  preaching  is  the  protest  against 
latter-day  flabbiness  " — the  Freule  van  Borck  had  read  and  mis- 
understood Carlyle.  "  Where  are  the  heroes  of  old  ?"  she  cried, 
pointing  her  "  church-book  "  at  the  imperturbable  Gerard,  who 
had  come  strolling  out,  cool  in  the  coolest  of  flannels,  to  greet 
the  clergyman.  "  Where,  as  you  asked  them,  are  Gideon  and 
Moses  and  Joshua  the  son  of  Nun,  that  was  never  afraid  ?" 

"  We  give  it  up,"  said  Gerard,  gravely.  "  Did  the  congrega- 
tion know  ?" 

"  Be  silent,  Gerard.  Your  conduct  is  bad  enough  already. 
Instead  of  remaining  to  scoff,  you  should  have  gone  to  pray." 
It  was  the  Baron  who  spoke,  looking  up  from  his  great  St. 
Bernard. 

"  I  bow  to  your  command,  sir,  especially  on  a  Sunday.  But 
Aunt  Louisa  should  not  propound  conundrums  when  the  an- 
swers appear  to  have  got  beyond  her  control." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  to  you ;  I  was  speaking  seriously,"  re- 
plied the  Freule,  with  lofty  scorn.  "And  I  thoroughly  agree 
with  the  Domine,  that  the  age  of  troubadours  is  dead." 

The  Domine  writhed.  "  Yes,  yes,"  he  ^aid — "  undoubtedly. 
Though  I  should  hardly,  myself,  have  employed  the  names  you 
mentioned  as  examples  of  fearlessness  " —  He  stopped  in  de- 
spair. The  Freule  was  grabbing,  with  her  handkerchief  in  front 
of  her,  at  a  wasp  which  serenely  buzzed  behind.  Mevrouw  van 
Helmont,  on  a  garden  seat,  against  a  great  flare  of  MacMahons 
that  looked,  among  their  gold-rimmed  leaves,  like  a  mayonnaise 
of  lobster — Mevrouw  van  Helmont  seemed  entirely  engrossed 
by  the  interest  of  sticking  her  parasol  into  a  fat  bundle  before 
her  which  wriggled  and  kicked.     The  Domine  sighed.     This 


30  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

was  "  the  Family."  These  were  the  temporal  lords  of  his  spir- 
itual domain.  He  turned,  wistfully,  to  watch  his  daughter  com- 
ing across  the  sward,  by  Otto's  side,  between  gay  patches  of 
color. 

"  You  two  have  been  renewing  your  acquaintance,"  he  said. 
"  Or  was  there  none  left  to  renew  ?" 

"  Indeed,  we  are  already  old  friends,"  replied  Otto,  *'  for  Juf- 
frouw  Rovers  has  been  scolding  me  vigorously ;  and  ladies,  I  be- 
lieve, never  scold  mere  acquaintances  ?"  Ursula  bit  her  under- 
lip.  "  I  understand  that  Juffrouw  Rovers  objects  to  the  killing 
of  animals — all  animals  ?"  His  heavy  mustache  hung  unmoved 
as  he  looked  across. 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  fad  of  Ursula's,"  broke  in  Gerard.  "  You 
should  teach  her  her  Bible  better,  Domine.  She  admits  that 
Nimrod  may  have  been  a  mighty  hunter,  but  never  '  before  the 
Lord.' " 

"  Gerard,"  said  the  Domine,  with  a  grave  flash  of  his  eyes  on 
the  prodigal,  "  the  Bible  is  a  holy  book.  Some  day,  perhaps, 
you  will  learn,  with  regard  to  holiness,  that  '  Fools  rush  in 
where  angels  fear  to  tread.'  "  The  rebuke  was  almost  a  fierce 
one,  from  gentle  lips.  In  the  painful  silence  Gerard,  flushing, 
took  it  like  a  man. 

The  Baron's  mild  voice  intervened.  "The  daughter  of  a 
hero,"  said  the  Baron,  smiling  and  bowing,  "  can  afford  to  ap- 
pear soft-hearted.  Ursula  preaches  peace,  and  her  father 
preaches  war.  But  /,  were  1  Otto,  should  be  most  afraid  of 
Ursula." 

"  Mynheer  van  Helmont,"  answered  that  young  lady,  goaded 
almost  beyond  endurance,  "  I  am  going  next  Wednesday  to  my 
Uncle  Mopius,  to  stay  with  him  for  a  week  or  two." 

"  Coming  to  Drum  !"  cried  Gerard,  whose  regiment  was  quar- 
tered in  the  small  provincial  town.  He  checked  himself.  "  I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  said.     "  You  were  about  to  speak  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  !"  cried  the  Baroness  across  from  her  seat. 
"  Your  father  was  only  going  to  observe  something  about  eclipses 
of  the  sun.  You  know  you  were,  Theodore.  It  has  done  duty 
a  dozen  times  before." 

"  My  dear,  do  I  deny  it  ?"  replied  the  Baron,  sadly.     "  We 


LE  PREMIER  PAS QUI  COUTE  31 

have  lived  too  long  together.  You  know  all  my  little  jokes, 
Cecile.  You  are  tired  of  my  compliments.  And  yet,  after 
more  than  forty  years  of  marriage,  I  still  address  ninety  per 
cent,  to  yourself." 

"  But  none  of  the  new  ones,"  replied  the  Baroness,  pouting 
before  the  whole  circle  like  a  girl. 

"  The  new  ones  are  an  old  man's  compliments,  and,  there- 
fore, insincere."  He  went  across  to  her,  followed  by  the  dog, 
and  the  gray  couple  sat  laughing  and  flirting,  like  any  pair 
of  lovers. 

"  Ah,  Domine,  you  needn't  look  sour,"  said  the  Freule,  her 
own  angular  face  like  skim-milk.  "  Surely,  by  this  time,  you 
no  longer  expect  sobriety  at  the  Manor-house  of  Horst." 

"I  was  only  thinking,"  replied  the  Domine,  softly,  and  his 
eyes  seemed  to  pierce  beyond  the  couple  on  the  seat. 

The  Freule  gave  a  smart  snap — meant  not  unkindly — to  her 
"  church-book  "  clasp. 

*'  But  your  wife  is  in  heaven,"  she  rejoined,  "  and  much  bet- 
ter off,  unless  sermons  mean  nothing,  than  anybody  here  below." 

The  Domine  started,  and  an  old  scar  came  out  across  his 
cheeks,  as  if  a  whip-lash  had  struck  him.  "Yes,  yes,"  he 
said,  hurriedly.  "  Thank  God.  Ursula,  I  think  it  is  time  we 
were  going." 

But  the  spinster  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  her  pastor's  arm. 
"  Surely  you  must  admit,"  she  persisted,  "  that  you  Christians 
are  strangely  illogical.  What,  to  a  Christian,  is  the  King  of 
Terrors  ?     We  should  speak,  not  of  Mors,  but  of  Morphia !" 

This  sentence  was  taken  from  the  Freule's  favorite  periodical, 
the  Victory^  in  which,  however,  the  concluding  word  had  been 
printed  "  Morpheus." 

"  Yes,  yes,  exactly,"  replied  the  Domine,  pulling  away. 
*'  You  remember  what  Thucydides  said,  Freule  Louisa  ?  I 
mean,  Thucydides  says  it's  no  use  discussing  a  subject  unless 
men  are  agreed  on  the  meaning  of  the  terms  they  employ. 
Ursula,  we  must  really  be  going.  Your  aunt  has  such  a  dislike 
to  irregular  hours." 

"Juffrouw  Mopius?"  exclaimed  Otto.  "I  didn't  see  her  in 
church.     I  hope  she  is  well  ?" 


32  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Gerard  burst  out  laughing.  "  Have  you  been  away  so  long," 
he  said,  "  that  you  have  forgotten  Miss  Mopius's  Sunday  head- 
ache ?" 

The  Domine,  who  could  fight  men,  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  liked  to  answer  something  about  Gerard's  Sunday  ail- 
ments, but  he  refrained,  evidently  feeling  that  he  had  already 
said  enough. 

The  two  young  men  stood  watching  father  and  daughter  as 
they  swung  away  into  the  woodland  shadows.  "  It  will  be 
rather  a  bore,"  yawned  Gerard.  "  Ursula's  coming  to  Drum. 
I  shall  have  to  show  the  poor  creature  all  over  the  place.  I 
don't  think  she  ever  spent  a  night  outside  Horstwyk  before." 
He  lounged  away  to  the  Baroness.  "  Mother,  Otto  is  very 
much  smitten  with  Ursula,  in  spite  of  her  lamentable  lack  of 
style.  I  suppose  he  doesn't  notice  that,  after  India.  Has  he 
been  making  any  terrible  confessions  yet  about  other  brown 
damsels  out  there  ?" 

The  Freule  van  Borck  shot  a  keen  glance  at  her  elder  neph- 
ew's solemn  face.  "  Yes,  Otto,"  she  said,  "  it  can't  be  helped. 
Gerard's  humor  is  part  of  your  home-coming." 

Meanwhile  the  Domine  went  scudding  through  the  corn  as 
if  the  very  wind  of  panic  were  after  him.  Presently  his  daugh- 
ter ventured  to  hint  that  the  day  was  rather  warm. 

"Ursula" — the  Domine's  cowardice  had  put  him  out  of 
temper  with  all  around  him — "  Ursula,  I  heard  you  remark  to 
the  Jonkers  that  you  were  exceedingly  fond  of  your  uncle  Mo- 
pius.     Now,  Ursula,  surely  that  was  untrue." 

"  It  was  irony,  father,"  the  girl  made  answer  rather  testily, 
screening  her  tormented  face. 

"  Irony  ?  I  do  not  understand  irony.  There  is  no  room  for 
irony  in  the  Christian  warfare.  It  is  a  sort  of  unchivalric 
guerilla.  I'm  afraid  you  are  not  always  quite  honest  and 
straightforward.  Always,  in  everything,  be  quite  honest  and 
straightforward,  my  dear." 

When  Ursula  was  safe  in  her  own  room  she  sat  down  to  cry. 
She  had  never,  from  her  earliest  recollections  upward,  enjoyed 
the  luxury  of  rational  grief ;  an  altogether  causeless  outpouring, 
such  as  this,  could,  therefore,  but  increase  her  irritation  against 


LE  PREMIER  PAS QUI  COUTE  33 

herself.  "What  did  it  matter,  after  all,  if  she  made  a  good  im- 
pression on  people  ?  She  was  self-conscious.  With  angry- 
energy  she  dabbed  her  blazing  cheeks  and  went  down  to 
luncheon. 

"  Ursula,  my  dear  child,  your  face  is  all  blotchy,"  said  Miss 
Mopius.  "  I  make  no  doubt  you  are  going  to  have  the  measles ; 
they  are  very  prevalent  in  the  village.  Did  you  sneeze  during 
service?  Roderigue,  did  you  notice  if  Ursula  sneezed  during 
service  ?  No,  you  are  no  good  in  church  ;  you  only  think  of 
your  sermon.  Well,  Ursula,  I  must  give  you  some  Sympathet- 
ico  Lob.  You  may  be  thankful  you  have  an  aunt  whose  own 
health  is  so  bad  that  she  doesn't  care  at  all  about  infection," 

The  Domine  looked  up  uneasily.  His  coffee  tasted  bitter, 
like  remorse. 

"  Or  is  it  hay-fever,"  said  Miss  Mopius,  "  that  begins  with 
sneezing?     I  must  get  my  little  Manual  and  see." 


CHAPTER  VI 

UNCONSCIOUS     RIVALS 

Three  days  later  Ursula  started  for  Drum. 

Looking  down  the  straight  vista  of  her  shaded  past,  she  could 
not  have  discovered,  within  measurable  distance,  an  event  to 
compare  with  this  departure  from  home.  Hitherto  her  world 
had  been  Horstwyk,  and  mundane  greatness  had  been  the 
Horst. 

In  those  three  days  of  delicious  preparation  she  had  never- 
theless seen  a  good  deal  of  the  new  arrival.  His  affection  for 
the  Domine  was  palpable  to  all  men,  and  he  seemed  to  slip 
away,  almost  gladly,  down  the  long  road  from  the  Manor  to  the 
Parsonage.  All  Monday  evening  they  had  sat  over  their  tea- 
cups in  the  green  veranda,  and  the  Domine,  roused  thereto 
by  the  guest's  brief  descriptions  of  daring,  had  leisurely  recalled 
his  own  stories  of  Algerine  lion-hunts.  Ursula,  looking  up 
from  her  work  at  Otto's  earnest  attention,  wondered  if  twelve 
years  of  absence  could  really  suffice  to  efface  the  ofttold  tale. 

On  Tuesday  a  great  dinner  at  "  The  House  "  had  feted  the 
return  of  the  first-born.  The  Domine  had  made  a  speech,  and 
enjoyed  himself  notwithstanding.  But  Ursula  considered  the 
entertainment  had  been  rather  a  failure,  for  amid  the  due  honor- 
ing of  dowagers  and  heiresses,  nobody  but  the  Baron  had  found 
time  to  say  a  civil  word  to  herself.  Helena  van  Trossart,  the 
Helmonts'  wealthy  cousin,  had  looked  lovely,  though  bored,  in 
the  seat  next  to  Otto,  assigned  her  by  the  Baroness ;  she  had 
brightened  up  visibly  when  the  younger  son  joined  her  for  an 
endless  flirtation  in  the  drawing-room. 

Ursula  now  stood  waiting  and  mildly  reviewing  last  night's 
disappointments,  on   this,  to   her,  eventful  Wednesday  morn- 


UNCONSCIOUS    RIVALS  35 

ing.  Gerard,  who  was  returning  to  his  regiment,  had  promised 
to  call  for  her  on  his  way  to  the  station. 

"  Ten  minutes  too  soon  !"  she  said  in  surprise,  running  to  the 
door  as  the  sound  of  wheels  became  audible.  But  it  was  Otto 
who  called  to  her  from  the  box. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  cried,  half-way  down  the  garden 
path.     "  But  Gerard — I  thought  you  would  know  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  Gerard's  arrangements,"  answered  Otto 
with  cold  annoyance.  "Never  mind;  I  have  brought  your 
father's  tiger-skin.    Is  there  any  one  here  could  hold  the  horse  ?" 

"  Why,  of  course,"  she  said,  springing  forward. 

"  You  ?  I  fancied  you  would  be  afraid  of  horses."  Otto 
began  tugging  at  a  brown-paper  parcel  wedged  under  the  seat. 
As  the  carriage  swayed  forward  the  animal,  grown  restless, 
plunged. 

"Naturally,"  replied  Ursula,  one  firm  hand  at  its  mouth. 
She  flushed.  "  Hatred  of  cruelty  stands,  with  an  average  man, 
for  cowardice." 

"Don't.  You  hurt  one,"  cried  Otto,  turning,  with  altered 
voice.     She  calmed  down  immediately. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,"  she  said,  "  Hector  knows  me  longer 
and  better  than  you.     Your  father  often  lets  me  drive  him." 

"  This  is  it,"  replied  Otto,  tearing  back  a  strip  of  cover- 
ing. A  tawny  mass  of  fur,  broken  suddenly  loose,  poured 
down  into  the  dusty  road. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beauty  !"  exclaimed  Josine,  who  had  ventured 
out  in  a  wrap  beneath  the  laughing  sky. 

And,  "  Oh,  what  a  beauty  !"  echoed  Ursula. 

"  These  are  for  you,"  he  continued,  in  the  eager  delight  of 
giving,  as  he  bundled  out  two  gorgeous  Indian  shawls.  "  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  wear  them  to  church  on  Sundays  " — 
he  stopped,  before  the  ripple  on  Ursula's  face.  "  You  like 
them,  don't  you  ?"  he  asked,  dismayed.  "  You  like  them,  don't 
you.  Miss  Mopius  ?" 

"  They  are  exquisite,"  replied  the  latter  lady,  affectedly,  with 
a  scowl  at  her  niece.  "  My  dear  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  you 
have  inherited  all  your  father's  charming  taste."  Ursula  mur- 
mured something  about  "  a  beautiful  drapery." 


36  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"All  modern  girls  are  alike,"  thought  Otto,  "everything  for 
ornament."  He  was  almost  relieved  to  see  Gerard's  trap  come 
rattling  up. 

"  You  here  !"  cried  the  younger  brother,  looking  down  from 
his  height.  "  Oh,  I  see  !  What  a  hurry  you're  in  to  bestow 
your  gifts  !" 

"  I  came  here  to  conduct  Juffrouw  Rovers  to  the  station," 
answered  Otto.  "The, message  I  sent  appears  not  to  have 
reached  her." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  !"  Ursula  stood  distressful,  by  the  little 
green  gate,  in  her  dust- ulster,  the  rainbow  cloth  over  one  arm. 
At  her  feet  lay  the  white-fanged  brute  with  gleaming  eyes  and 
distended  maw.  Otto  climbed  slowly  back  into  his  old-fashioned 
wagonette.  By  his  side  the  smart  dog-cart  jingled  and  creaked. 
"  Hurry,  Ursula  !"  cried  its  driver.  "  We  haven't  any  time  to 
spare!"  Otto  whipped  up  Hector  almost  savagely.  "It's  of 
no  account,"  he  said,  "  of  no  account  at  all." 

"  Gerard,  I'm  afraid  we  shall  miss  the  train,"  said  Ursula,  as 
the  trees  went  flying  past  them. 

"  Possibly,"  answered  Gerard.  "  You  don't  mind  my  ciga- 
rette ?" 

"  Gerard,  my  uncle  will  never  forgive  me." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  will.  Dozens  of  damned  people  have  said  they 
would  never  forgive  me,  but  they  always  did.  You  would 
have  missed  the  train  with  Hector,  anyway." 

"  But  if  I  had  started  with  your  brother,  you  would  have 
taken  me  on." 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Gerard,  with  deep  conviction.  "  Once 
with  Otto,  always  with  Otto."  He  looked  down  into  her  face 
through  half-closed  eyelids.  "  Once  with  Otto,  always  with 
Otto,"  he  repeated,  "  and  so  you  would  have  missed  your  train." 

She  laughed.  "  Well,  I'd  much  rather  go  with  you,"  she 
answered,  gayly.  He  made  her  a  mock  little  bow  of  acknowl- 
edgment. 

"  For,  you  see,  you  take  me  all  the  way  to  Drum." 

"  Thank  you.  If.  Gently,  Beauty,  gently ;  it's  only  a  bit 
of  paper  in  the  middle  of  the  road.     I  like  you  for  not  being 


UNCONSCIOUS    RIVALS  37 

nervous,  Ursula.  My  mother  wouldn't  sit  behind  a  horse  that 
shied." 

*'  I  want  to  catch  my  train,"  responded  Ursula. 

"  Don't  be  so  peevish.  Is  this  all  the  reward  I  get  for  allow- 
ing your  box  to  scratch  the  paint  off  my  dog-cart  ?" 

"Oh,  Gerard,  will  it  do  that  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  will.  But  make  yourself  easy.  I'm  going  to 
have  the  cart  repainted,  anyway.  The  green  spikes  were  well 
enough  two  years  ago,  but  I've  seen  another  shade  I  like  better." 

"  Gerard,  you  are  horribly  extravagant." 

"  So  my  father  says  each  time  he  gets  himself  some  new 
plaything.     By  George !  I  believe  we  really  are  too  late." 

With  a  shout  to  the  groom  he  leaped  from  his  seat,  and  was 
lost  in  the  interior  of  the  station  ;  as  Ursula  hurriedly  followed, 
a  whistle  of  departure  pierced  straight  through  her  heart. 

'*  Quick,  you  stupid,"  she  heard  Gerard's  voice  saying  to 
somebody.  The  train  had  stopped  again.  She  was  bustled  in. 
They  were  off  ! 

"  Now  that  never  happened  to  me  before,"  said  Gerard.  "  The 
man  is  an  ass.     But,  in  fact,  it  is  all  your  fault." 

Ursula  sat  staring  at  her  hero  in  unmixed  awe.  Her  infre- 
quent railway  journeys  had  always  been  occasions  of  flurry  and 
alarm.  Never  had  she  realized  that  any  son  of  man  could  in- 
fluence a  station-master. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  meekly. 

"  Of  course  it  is.  I  should  just  have  jumped  in.  But  they 
had  to  stop  the  train  for  you.  And  now  they  will  make  us  pay 
a  monstrous  fine  f(^  travelling  without  a  ticket." 

"  Is  that  also  my  fault  ?"  asked  Ursula,  more  meekly  still. 

"  No,  it  was  Beauty's.  I've  a  great  mind  to  deduct  the 
money  from  her  oats.  Only  that  would  make  her  do  it  over 
again."     He  laughed  once  more,  a  jolly,  self-satisfied  laugh. 

"  But,  oh,  what  should  we  have  done,"  said  Ursula,  presently, 
"  if  the  station-master  hadn't  listened  to  you  ?" 

"  Stopped  the  train  myself,  of  course  ;  and  Santa  Glaus  would 
have  forgotten  to  send  that  man  cigars." 

"  Gerard,  you  wouldn't  have  dared  !" 

Her  innocent  amazement  drove  him  on. 


38  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  You  have  a  poor  idea  of  my  desire  to  oblige  you,"  he  made 
answer.  "  It  would  have  cost  me  a  pair  of  gloves,  I  suppose, 
and  a  lot  of  depositions  at  the  end,  and  a  fine.  It  would  have 
been  a  great  bore  ;  I  do  not  pretend  to  deny  that." 

She  relapsed  into  silence,  reflecting.  She  thought  Gerard 
was  youthfully  overbearing.  But  she  also  saw  he  was  in  ear- 
nest. To  her  it  had  always  seemed  in  the  village  of  Horstwyk 
that  the  powers  in  authority — the  Beadle,  the  Squire — were  made 
to  be  implicitly  obeyed.  Submission,  in  the  Domine's  system, 
stood  forth  as  an  article  of  faith.  In  the  great  world  outside 
she  felt  it  must  be  the  same,  only  still  more  resistlessly.  Order 
and  Law,  however  erroneous,  were  always  ex  officio  infallible. 

But  for  great  people,  evidently,  the  world  was  otherwise. 
The  Irrevocable  possessed  no  barriers  which  rank  and  insolence 
could  not  laughingly  push  aside.  The  railways  in  their  courses 
obeyed  these  rulers  of  men.  For  the  first  time  in  her  recollec- 
tion she  envied — perhaps  with  last  night's  discomfiture  rising 
uppermost — she  envied  "  the  Great." 

She  sat  furtively  watching  her  companion  behind  his  news- 
paper. He  was  handsome,  with  his  light  mustache  and  strong 
complexion,  well-dressed,  well-groomed,  completely  at  his  ease. 
She  felt  that  the  world  belonged  to  him.  She  felt  exceeding 
small. 

At  the  little  town  of  Drum  she  was  able  to  continue  her 
studies.  Porters  naturally  selected  Gerard  to  hover  round  ; 
every  one  seemed  anxious  to  please  him.  Whatever  he  desired 
was  immediately  "  Yes,  my  lord"  ed.  He  gave  double  the  usual 
number  and  double  the  necessary  quantity  of  tips.  He  insisted 
upon  personally  seeing  Ursula  to  her  uncle's  door  and  overpay- 
ing the  cabman.  "  I  have  a  reputation,"  he  said,  merrily,  "  to 
keep  up  in  Drum."  He  turned  back  as  she  stood  on  the  door-step. 

"And  your  uncle  has  a  reputation,  too,"  he  called,  waving 
his  hat. 

Ursula  knew  her  uncle  by  more  than  reputation,  and  her 
courage  began  to  ooze  after  Gerard's  retreating  figure.  Imme- 
diately she  pressed  a  resolute  finger  on  the  leak  ;  she  was  come 
to  enjoy  herself,  and  Gerard  had  promised  to  help  her. 


UNCONSCIOUS    RIVALS  39 

Villa  Blanda,  the  residence  of  Mynheer  Jac6bus  Mopius,  stood 
in  a  good-sized  garden,  some  way  back  from  the  street.  The 
garden  was  very  brilliant,  very  brilliant  indeed.  The  first  im- 
pression it  used  to  make  was  that  of  the  hideous  conglonSera- 
tion  of  colors  which  children  saw  in  former  days  through  so- 
called  kaleidoscopes  ;  after  a  time  you  perceived  that  its  complex 
disharmony  was  principally  produced  by  a  mal  -  assortment  of 
flowers.  These  received  some  assistance,  it  must  be  confessed, 
from  a  glittering  "Magenta"  ball,  two  terra-cotta  statuettes  of 
fat  children  with  baskets,  and  other  pleasing  trifles  of  similar 
origin. 

The  whole  house  had  manifestly  cost  a  great  deal  of  money ; 
it  was  its  single  duty  to  proclaim  this  fact,  and  it  did  its  duty 
well.  A  hundred  flourishes  of  superfluous  ornament  showed 
upon  the  face  of  it  that  the  terra-cotta  man  and  the  gilder,  and 
the  encaustic-tile  people,  and  the  modeller  of  stucco  monstrosi- 
ties, had  all  sent  in  lengthy  bills.     The  bills  had  been  paid. 

Yes,  Mynheer  Jacobus  Mopius  owed  no  man  anything — not 
even  courtesy,  not  even  disregard.  He  button-holed  you  to  in- 
form you  how  much  more  important  a  personage  he  was  than 
yourself.     If  you  tried  to  escape  him  you  were  lost. 

Inside,  the  house  was,  as  outside,  a  record  of  wealth  misspent. 
Money,  they  say,  buys  everything ;  it  is  certainly  wonderful  to 
consider  what  hideous  things  money  will  buy. 

Ursula  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  where  her  aunt 
came  forward  to  greet  her.  "  How  are  you,  my  dear?"  said 
Mevrouw  Mopius,  in  a  tone  whose  indifference  precluded  reply. 
Mevrouw  Mopius  was  a  washed-out-looking  lady  in  a  too-stiff 
black  silk.  She  immediately  returned  to  her  low  chair  and  her 
Berlin  woolwork  frame.  For  Mevrouw  Mopius  still  worked  on 
canvas.  She  preferred  figures — Biblical  scenes.  She  was  now 
busy  on  a  meeting  between  Jacob  and  Laban,  in  which  none  of 
the  gorgeously  robed  figures  were  like  anything  that  has  ever 
been  seen  on  earth. 

Ursula  seated  herself,  unasked,  on  a  purple  plush  settee.  The 
room  was  large  and  copiously  gilded.  From  the  farther  end  of 
it  a  girl  approached — a  pale  girl  in  a  plain  dark  gown. 


40  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

*'  Oh,  I  forgot,"  said  Mevrouw  Mopius,  pausing  with  uplifted 
needle.  "My  step -niece  Harriet.  Harriet,  this  is  Ursula 
Rovers." 

"•Will  you  come  and  take  off  your  things  ?"  said  the  dark 
girl.  "  Shall  I  show  you  your  room  ?"  Ursula  rose,  with  a 
spring  of  relief,  and  began  hastily  to  explain  about  the  loss  of 
her  luggage  as  she  moved  towards  the  door.  Just  before  she 
reached  it  her  aunt  spoke  again. 

"  Harriet  has  come  to  live  with  us,  you  remember,  since  her 
father  died."  Mevrouw  Mopius  always  conversed  in  after- 
thoughts, when  she  troubled  herself  to  converse  at  all. 

"  You  won't  be  able  to  change  your  clothes,"  said  the  pale 
girl,  as  the  two  went  up-stairs  together. 

"  No.     Does  it  matter  ?" 

"  Matter  ?  No.  What  does  matter  ?  Certainly  not  Uncle 
Mopius." 

"  AVhat  a  fine  house  this  is,  is  it  not  ?  I  was  never  on  the 
second  floor  before,  though  I've  sometimes  been  to  lunch." 

"Oh  yes,  it  is  charming,  charming  in  every  way,"  said  the 
pale  girl,  with  a  sneer.  "  This  is  your  room,  the  second  best 
guest-chamber.  I'm  afraid  I  can't  lend  you  much  for  the  night. 
I've  three  night-gowns;  one's  in  the  wash,  and  one's  torn. 
Uncle  Mopius  gave  me  them." 

She  went  and  stood  at  the  window  while  Ursula  hurriedly 
washed  her  hands.  "  Are  you  ready  ?"  she  asked,  presently. 
"  Then  come  down-stairs  again.  Better  tell  Uncle  Mopius  you 
admired  your  room.  The  washing-things,  for  instance,  they  are 
English.  Cost  thirty-six  florins.  Come  along."  Ursula  shud- 
dered under  the  continuous  sneer  of  the  girl's  impassive  tones. 

As  soon  as  they  opened  the  drawing-room  door  Mevrouw  Mo- 
pius's  voice  was  heard  exclaiming,  "  Harriet,  get  me  my  Bible 
immediately,  Harriet."  She  sat  up  quite  awake  and  alert,  her 
needle  unused  beside  her.  "  I've  been  waiting,"  she  continued. 
"  What  a  long  time  you've  been.  Ursula,  I  hope  you're  not 
vain.  It's  a  bad  thing  in  a  pastor's  daughter  to  be  vain  of  her 
appearance."  After  a  minute's  silence  she  became  aware  of  the 
proximity  of  her  other  niece,  who  stood  waiting  beside  her, 
Bible  in  hand.     "  And  in  all  other  girls,"  she  added,  "  for  the 


UNCONSCIOUS    RIVALS  41 

matter  of  that ;"  but  Harriet,  having  missed  the  discourse,  lost 
the  application  as  well. 

"  It  was  on  the  table  in  the  next  room,"  said  Harriet. 

"  I  know.     Did  you  expect  me  to  get  it  ?" 

The  lady  took  the  sacred  volume,  which  immediately  fell  open 
at  the  story  of  Jacob  and  Rebecca,  much  bethumbed.  In  the 
midst  of  her  search  she  paused,  to  cast  a  sharp  look  at  Ursula. 
"And  not  much  to  be  vain  of,  anyway,"  she  said.  She  could 
not  possibly  have  authenticated  this  remark,  but  she  chose  to 
consider  it  "  judicious." 

"  Here  is  the  place,"  she  continued.  "  You  see,  it  says  Leah 
had  '  tender  eyes.'  Now,  what,  I  wonder,  is  the  color  of  ten- 
der eyes  ?" 

"  I  always  thought  it  meant  *  watery,'  "  hazarded  Ursula. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  Mevrouw  Mopius  reflected,  sitting 
critically  back  from  her  screen,  and  surveying  her  cherry-col- 
ored Orientals.  "  Really,  watery.  Ursula,  I  wonder  if  that  view 
is  correct  ?" 

"  Like  a  perpetual  cold  in  her  head,"  volunteered  the  dark 
girl,  listlessly.     "  I  know  such  people." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  sniffed  unconsciously. 

"  In  that  case  I  should  have  to  make  them  red,"  she  said. 
**  I  had  just  decided  on  dove  color." 

"  You  couldn't  make  red  show  against  the  cheeks,"  said  Har- 
riet. "Hadn't  you  better  send  round  and  ask  Mevrouw  Pock's 
opinion  ?" 

Mevrouw  Mopius  smiled  immediate  approval. 

"  A  very  sensible  suggestion,"  she  said.  Mevrouw  Pock  was 
the  wife  of  her  favorite  parson.  *'  You  have  plenty  of  sense  if 
only  you  were  always  good-tempered.  Get  me  my  escritoire 
from  the  table  over  there.  No  ;  writing  letters  fatigues  me  " — 
she  couldn't  spell  —  "you  must  run  across  after  dinner,  and  get 
Mevrouw  to  consult  her  husband  as  to  what  it  says  in  the  Greek." 

"But  I  shall  have  to  change  my  dress  again,"  protested 
Harriet. 

"  Well,  and  what  of  that  ?  So  much  the  better.  There's  few 
things  a  girl  likes  more  than  changing  dresses.  I'm  sure  you 
ought  to  be  thankful  you've  dresses  to  change." 


42  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Without  further  reply  the  girl  dropped  away  into  her  corner 
and  resumed  her  interrupted  reading.  Ursula  sat  with  her 
hands  in  her  lap.  Mevrouw  began  sorting  wools,  but  presently 
remembered  the  guest. 

"  Harriet,"  she  called,  "  why  don't  you  come  and  amuse 
Ursula  ?  You  waste  all  your  time  over  novels.  I  can't  imag- 
ine what  you  find  in  them.  What's  this  you're  reading  now  ? 
A  novel,  of  course  ?" 

The  girl  came  forward,  lazily.     "  Yes,  aunt,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  it  ?     What's  it  about  ?" 

"It's  a  historical  romance  called  JSFuma  Pompilius,  trans- 
lated from  the  German.     Everybody's  reading  it  just  now." 

"  I  can't  understand  what  you  find  in  them.  And  they're  all 
alike.     It  always  ends  in  Pompilius  marrying  Numa." 

Before  Ursula  had  stopped  laughing  behind  Mevrouw  Mo- 
pius's  back  her  uncle  came  in.     Harriet  did  not  laugh. 

Mynheer  Mopius,  though  a  very  secondary  personage  in 
this  story  of  the  Van  Helmonts,  would  be  mortally  offended  did 
we  not  give  him  a  chapter  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  VII 
Harriet's  romance 

"  Amusing  yourselves  ?"  said  Mynheer  Mopius.  "  That's 
right.  That's  what  you've  come  for,  Ursula.  I'm  glad  your 
aunt's  been  amusing  you." 

Translated,  this  meant  that  Mynheer  Mopius  considered  his 
wife  had  been  taking  a  liberty.  For,  although  Mynheer  Mo- 
pius despised  wit  or  humor  of  any  kind,  and  but  rarely  con- 
descended to  utter  what  he  considered  a  joke,  yet  he  some- 
how believed  his  conversation  to  be  a  source  of  constant 
refreshment  to  his  family.  And  he  felt  annoyed  at  their 
making  merry  without  him. 

"  I'm  sure,  if  Ursula's  laughing  it's  no  fault  of  mine,"  said 
Mevrouw.     "  I  was  merely  telling  Harriet — where's  Harriet?" 

"  Gone  up  to  dress.  You  had  better  follow  her  example, 
Ursula.  Dinner  at  6.30.  We  dress  for  it  here,  at  least  the 
women  do.  So  do  I  when  there's  company.  It's  a  custom  I 
brought  with  me  from  Batavia.  Must  show  the  natives  here 
what's  what." 

"I've  nothing  but  this,"  said  Ursula,  in  some  confusion. 
"  My  box  hasn't  come,  and  I  haven't  got  much  in  the  way  of 
evening  frocks  anyhow." 

"  I'll  give  you  one.  I  gave  Harriet  hers.  That  girl's  fallen 
nose  foremost  into  fat*  if  ever  girl  did.     Hasn't  she,  wife  ?" 

"  She  doesn't  know  it,"  replied  Mevrouw  Mopius,  picking  at 
Laban's  goggle  eyes. 

"  Then  she's  a  greater  fool  than  I  take  her  for.  She'd  have 
been  a  nurse-maid,  sure  as  fate.  And  now  she's  as  good  as  a 
rich  man's  daughter." 

*  Vulgar  Dutch  idiom. 


44  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  And  I'm  a  motlier  to  her  that  was  motherless,"  grunted  Me- 
vrouw  complacently,  "  and  because  she's  poor  and  no  real  rela- 
tion I  allow  her  to  call  me  *  aunt.'  " 

''Besides  which,  if  she  behaves  herself,  who  knows  what 
may  happen  to  her !"  Mynheer  Mopius  jingled  the  loose  cash 
in  his  trousers-pockets  and  looked  askance  at  Ursula. 

Ursula  looked  back  at  him,  peacefully  unconscious. 

"I  might  leave  her  my  money,"  said  Mynheer  Mopius. 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  splendid  !"  cried  Ursula. 

Her  uncle  looked  at  her  again.  "  Sly  little  thing !"  he 
thought,  but  he  said  nothing.  Only  Jacobus  Mopius  could 
have  called  Ursula  little.  His  greatness  caused  him  to  see  all 
things  small. 

He  was  a  stunted,  pompous  man,  with  a  big  head  and  yellow 
cheeks.  He  had  made  his  money  in  the  Dutch  Indies,  as  a 
notary. 

Harriet  came  back  in  a  fawn-colored  frock  with  a  pink 
rosebud  pattern,  made  of  some  kind  of  nun's  veiling,  high  in 
the  throat.     Mynheer  Mopius  gazed  at  it  in  admiration. 

"Looks  well,  doesn't  she?"  he  said  to  Ursula  in  a  loud  sotto 
voce.  "You  shall  have  just  such  another;  but  Harriet's  a 
devilish  good-looking  girl." 

The  subject  of  this  comment  did  not  appear  to  hear  it,  but 
Ursula  fancied  she  saw  her  aunt  wince.  Harriet  was  helping 
the  faded  woman  to  put  things  together.  In  the  hall  a  gong 
was  sounding  a  hideous  bellow  at  the  door. 

"  Late  as  usual,"  remonstrated  Mynheer  Mopius.  "  Hurry 
up,  my  dear.  Gracious  goodness,  how  awkward  you  are  get- 
ting !"  The  frail  little  creature  in  the  stiff  silk  caught  hold  of 
Harriet's  arm  with  one  skinny  hand,  and  Ursula,  as  she  watch- 
ed her  movements,  understood  something  of  her  unwillingness 
to  exert  herself. 

For  his  own  use  Mynheer  Mopius  never  bought  anything 
cheap,  and  all  the  appointments  of  the  dinner-table  were  excel- 
lent. Of  course  he  communicated  prices  to  the  new  arrival, 
and  Ursula,  soon  discovering  that  she  was  expected  constantly 
to  admire,  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and  asked  the  cost 
of  the  silver  candlesticks.     Her  uncle  ascended  into  regions  of 


HARRIET  S    ROMANCE  45 

unusual  good  humor,  and  ordered  up  a  bottle  of  sweet  Spanish 
wine  for  her,  "  such  as  you  ignorant  females  enjoy,"  he  said. 
He  grew  very  angry  with  his  wife  for  refusing  to  have  any. 
"  But  the  doctor  forbids  it."  "  Oh,  damn  your  doctor.  Never 
have  a  doctor  till  you're  dead ;  that's  my  advice.  Then  he 
can't  do  any  harm." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  meekly  swallowed  a  little  of  the  liquid, 
her  long  nose  drooping  over  the  glass.  Her  husband  sat 
tyrannically  watching  her.  "Drink  it  all,"  he  said;  "  you  want 
a  tonic.  You  shall  have  some  every  day."  And  she  drank  it, 
although  she  implicitly  believed  in  the  doctor,  and  the  doctor, 
a  teetotaler,  had  told  her  it  meant  death. 

"  Doctors  are  all  scoundrels,"  said  Mynheer  Mopius.  "  Hey, 
Harriet  ?" 

The  girl's  dead  father  had  been  a  medical  man. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  Only  lawyers  are  honest.  That's 
why  doctors  die  poor." 

Mynheer  Mopius  laughed  heartily.  '*  I  like  your  cheek,"  he 
said.  "  Make  hay  while  your  sun  shines,  Harriet.  A  man  can't 
stand  it  from  an  old  woman." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  sniffed. 

"  We  must  have  some  fun,  hey,  wife,  while  Ursula's  here  ? 
We  might  give  a  dinner-party,  and  show  the  grandees  what's 
what." 

"But  the  grandees  don't  come  to  our  dinner-parties," 
objected  Mevrouw  Mopius. 

"  No,  they  don't,  hang  'em.  But  they'd  hear  from  the 
people  who  do.  Your  Domine  Pock  knows  'em  all.  We'll 
have  Pock  to  dinner.  He's  always  asking  for  money  for  some- 
thing or  other,  but  he's  a  good  judge  of  victuals.  Trust  a 
parson  to  be  that,  and  a  poor  judge  of  wine.  At  least  the 
Evangelicals.  And  he'll  tell  every  one  Fve  the  best  venison  in 
the  city.  I  get  my  venison  from  Brussels,  Ursula,  and  it's 
better,  they'll  all  say,  than  the  Baron  van  Trossart's,  who  shoots 
his  himself." 

"  The  Baron  van  Trossart !"  said  Ursula.  "  That  is  the 
guardian  of  the  Van  Helmonts'  cousin,  Helen,  the  heiress.  I 
am  to  go  to  a  party  there.     Gerard  promised  me  an  invitation." 


46  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Mynheer  Mopius's  face  grew  very  dark. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  are  you  staying  with  me  or  in  bar- 
racks? If  with  me,  you  must  allow  me  to  amuse  you.  I  won't 
hear  anything  about  your  Barons  Gerard.  And  I  won't  have 
nothing  to  say  to  them." 

"  Gerard  isn't  the  Baron,"  replied  Ursula,  hotly.  "  That's 
his  father.     Not  that  it  matters." 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  think  it  did.  I  won't  hear  anything  about 
them.     What  did  you  say  the  father's  name  was  ?" 

"Theodore,  Baron  van  Helraont  van  Horstwyk  en  de  Horst," 
rolled  forth  Ursula,  proudly. 

"  Yes,  poor  Roderick  likes  that  sort  of  thing.  Is  ''  the 
Horst  "  the  name  of  the  house  ?     Is  it  grander  than  this?" 

Ursula  laughed.    "  It's  quite  different,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say.  But  I  won't  hear  another  word  about 
them.     That  kind  of  people  are  all  a  mistake." 

Harriet  lifted  her  indolent  eyes,  and  fixed  them  on  Ursula's 
face. 

"  Do  you  like  your  wine  ?"  she  said.    "  Mind  you  deserve  it." 

For  the  rest  of  the  meal  Mynheer  Mopius  talked  of  the 
entertainments  he  would  organize  for  Ursula.  He  refused  to 
let  her  accompany  Harriet  on  the  theological  errand  concern- 
ing Leah's  eyes. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  '*come  into  the  dra^wing-room  and  amuse 
us.  Do  you  play  ?  Do  you  sing  ?  Harriet  does  neither.  We 
do  both." 

Ursula  played  well.  She  gave  them  a  Concert  of  Liszt,  and 
Mynheer  did  not  talk  till  Mevrouw  dropped  her  scissors  and 
asked  him,  after  a  wait,  to  pick  them  up  for  her.  As  soon 
as  he  could,  he  got  hold  of  the  piano  himself,  and  called  out 
to  his  wife  to  join  him.  He  had  been  possessed  of  a  fine 
bass  twenty  years  ago,  and  had  enjoyed  much  admiration  in 
Batavian  society.  It  now  stopped  somewhere  down  in  his 
stomach,  and  only  a  rumble  came  out.  His  wife  rose  wearily 
to  play  his  accompaniments,  and  he  kept  her  chained  to  the 
piano  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  though  Ursula  could  not 
help  seeing  that  the  playing  seemed  to  cause  her  physical  pain. 

He  sang  ^only  love-songs  of  the  ultra-sentimental  kind,  all 


Harriet's   romance  47 

about  broken  hearts  and  lovely  death  and  willing  sacrifice. 
Many  of  them  were  of  a  by-gone  period  when  everybody  pre- 
tended— at  least  in  verse — to  be  absolutely  ill  with  affec- 
tion. 

Harriet  came  back  and  poured  out  tea.  When  her  uncle 
said  it  was  bad  she  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  It  always  is,"  she  replied. 

"  Yes,  Harriet,  it  is,  though  I  get  it  direct  from  the  East,"  he 
rejoined.     His  whole  attitude  betokened  reproof. 

"  The  East,"  interposed  Mevrouw,  from  her  tambour-frame. 
"  Quite  so.  I  wonder,  when  Laban  welcomed  Jacob,  do  you 
think  he  gave  him  tea  ?" 

"  Coffee,  rather,  I  should  fancy,"  replied  Mopius. 

"  Do  you  really  believe  they  drank  coffee.  Jacobus  ?  *  I  wish 
I  was  sure  " — for  the  fiftieth  time  that  day  (as  every  day)  she 
fell  to  contemplating  her  work  with  arrested  needle.  "  I  could 
so  well  fill  up  this  corner  with  a  little  table,  and  put  on  the  rolls 
and  cups  and  things." 

"  And  work  an  '  L '  in  the  napkin  corner,"  suggested  Harriet. 

Mevrouw  Mopius  gazed  suspiciously  into  her  niece's  face,  but 
Harriet's  expression  was  perfectly  serious. 

"  And — work — an — '  L' — into — the — napkin  —  corner,"  re- 
peated Mevrouw  Mopius,  very  slowly.  "  Well,  I  think  that 
might  be  nice." 

Ursula  had  just  extinguished  her  light,  and  was  dozing  off 
into  a  dream-land  of  Mopiuses  and  Jonkers,  when  the  door 
opened  and  Harriet  entered  hurriedly,  candle  in  hand,  a  white 
wrap  flung  loosely  about  her. 

"  I  didn't  knock,"  she  said.  "  Knocks  are  heard  all  over  a 
house  at  night." 

She  threw  herself  into  an  easy  chair  by  the  bed.  "  Finished 
already!"  she  said.  "l"ow  don't  make  much  work  of  your 
beauty." 

"  It's  so  little,  I  should  be  afraid  of  killing  it  with  over-care," 
replied  Ursula,  smiling. 

*  To  "  drink  coffee  "  is  old-fashioned  Dutch  for  "  lunch." 


48  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

But  Harriet  frowned.  "  Don't  tell  lies,"  she  said.  "  You 
must  know  you're  lovely.     You  are.     Am  I  lovely  too  ?" 

"  I  think  you  look  very  nice,"  replied  Ursula,  hesitatingly. 

"Thank  you.  I  understand."  She  tossed  back  her  black 
locks  from  her  sallow  cheeks,  and  her  sad  eyes  flashed.  "  But 
see  here,  I  didn't  come  to  talk  about  looks."  She  pushed  for- 
ward the  candle  so  that  its  light  fell  full  on  Ursula's  sleepy 
face.  "Wake  up  for  a  minute,  can't  you?  You  and  I  may  as 
well  understand  each  other  at  once."  She  leaned  back,  and 
folded  her  bare  white  arms,  from  which  the  loose  sleeves  fell 
away. 

"  Uncle  Mopius  is  always  telling  me  that  you  are  his  natural 
heir,"  she  said.  "  He  tells  me  whenever  he  wants  to  make  him- 
self disagreeable,  which  is  not  infrequently.  I  dare  say  you 
know." 

Ursula  sat  up.  "  No,  indeed  I  don't,"  she  said,  "  and  I  don't 
want  to.  Once  my  Aunt  Josine  said  something  about  it,  a 
couple  of  years  ago,  and  father  called  me  into  his  study  and 
said  he  didn't  think  I  should  ever  get  a  penny  of  Uncle  Jaco- 
bus's money,  and  he  earnestly  hoped  not.  I've  never  thought  of 
it  since." 

Harriet  jerked  up  her  chin.  "  Your  father  must  be  a  peculiar 
sort  of  man,"  she  said,  "  if  sincere.     Did  he  mean  it  ?" 

Ursula  blew  out  the  candle.  "  I'm  going  to  sleep,"  she  said. 
"Good-night.     I  don't  want  to  be  rude  to  you." 

But  Harriet  quietly  drew  a  box  of  matches  from  her  pocket. 
"  I  like  that,"  she  said,  leisurely.  "  I  wish  I  had  somebody  to 
stick  up  for.  But  I  came  to  say  this — Uncle  Mopius  is  sure  to 
bring  up  the  subject  constantly  in  your  presepce.  He'll  taunt 
me,  as  is  his  habit,  especially  now  you're  here,  with  your  good- 
luck  in  being  his  own  sister's  child.  Now,  I  want  you  fully  to 
understand" — she  leaned  forward  her  big  dark  face  till  Ursula 
struggled  not  to  shrink  back — "  that  I — don't — care.  I  don't 
care  a  bit.  I'm  not  like  men.  And  if  you  think  you're  enjoy- 
ing a  cheap  triumph,  you're  mistaken,  that's  all.  And  if  you 
imagine  it's  bravado  on  my  part,  because  I  can't  help  myself 
you're  mistaken  too.  I  don't  want  his  dirty  money.  I'm  sick 
of  it.     I  want  something  better.     I'm  not  going  to  hate  you 


Harriet's  romance  49 

for  nothing.  In  fact,  I  rather  like  you.  So  he  can  go  on  as 
much  as  ever  he  chooses,  and  if  you  enjoy  it  you're  free  to  do  so." 

"  But  I  don't,"  cried  Ursula,  with  hot  cheeks.  "  I  don't  a 
bit.  You  know  I  don't.  And,  in  fact,  uncle  talked  quite  differ- 
ently this  afternoon.     I  thought  you — " 

The  other  girl  stopped  her  with  a  gesture. 

"Don't,"  she  said,  "I  won't  hear  it.  I'm  sick  of  the  whole 
business.  Be  sure  that,  whatever  he  said,  it  was  a  lie."  She 
got  up  and  began  pacing  the  room,  her  limbs  quivering  under 
the  light  folds  of  her  gown.  Suddenly  she  stood  still,  looking 
down  at  Ursula.  "  Shall  I  tell  you  what  will  really  happen  ? 
Do  you  care  to  know  ?  It's  easy  enough."  Ursula  did  not  an- 
swer, but  Harriet  went  on,  unheeding,  "  Aunt  will  die,  and  he 
will  marry  again  as  soon  as  he  can.  That's  all.  There."  Ur- 
sula's continuous  silence  seemed  to  goad  her  companion.  "You 
think  he  may  die  before  aunt?  He  may;  but  when  a  chimney 
falls  down  into  the  street,  it  usually  manages  to  hit  a  better 
man.  You  watch  aunt.  Good-night."  She  was  departing,  but 
again  reflected,  and  came  back  to  the  bed.  "  You  poor  thing," 
she  said,  "  I  believe  you  really  would  have  liked  me  to  get  the 
money.     Why?" 

"  Oh,  I  should  indeed,"  replied  Ursula,  earnestly,  "  though  it 
looks  a  long  way  off.  You  seem  so  lonely  and — will  you  mind 
my  saying  it? — so  unhappy,  Harriet."  To  her  amazement  her 
visitor  fell  forward  on  the  bed  and  hugged  her.  A  moment 
afterwards,  however,  Harriet  again  sat  in  the  big  chair.  "  You 
are  quite  mistaken,"  she  said,  arranging  her  draperies  with 
downcast  eyes,  "  I  am  not  at  all  unhappy."  There  followed  a 
moment's  agitated  silence,  and  then  : 

"  Ursula,  I  like  you.  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  You'll 
listen  for  a  moment,  won't  you  ?  I've  nobody  else  to  tell  it  to." 
Without  further  consideration  the  girl  pushed  one  hand  be- 
tween the  loose  folds  about  her  throat,  and  from  the  snowy 
recesses  of  her  bosom  drew  forth  a  paper  which  she  hurriedly 
thrust  in  front  of  Ursula.  "There,  read  that,"  she  said,  ex- 
citedly. "  It  never  leaves  me  lest  they  should  find  out."  Still 
sitting  up,  with  one  elbow  on  the  little  table  beside  her,  Ursula 
read  a  printed  advertisement,  a  scrap  from  a  newspaper : 

4 


50       I  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  H.  V.  Meet  me  on  Thursday  next  at  eight  o^clock  in 
the  Long  Walk  outside  the  West  Gate.  Wear  a  white  feather 
and,  if  possible,  a  red  shawl.  Carry  your  parasol  open,  in  any 
case.  Dearest,  I  am  dying  to  see  you,  but  can't  come  before 
then.     Your  own  Romeo." 

*'  Well  ?"  queried  Ursula,  but  immediately  her  voice  changed. 
"Harriet,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  this  is  an  entangle- 
ment of  yours  ?" 

"You  choose  a  strange  word,"  replied  Harriet,  loftily. 
"  There  is  no  entanglement.  But  I  hope  there  is  going  to  be. 
As  yet  there  is  merely  an  answer  to  an  advertisement.  Yes, 
the  advertisement  was  mine.  Oh,  Ursula,  isn't  it  delightful  ? 
He  says  he  is  dying  to  see  me.  Imagine  that.  And  he  doesn't 
even  know  me  yet." 

"  That  surely  makes  his  eagerness  less  delightful,"  replied 
Ursula,  dryly. 

"  Oh,  but  I  gave  him  a  very  accurate  description,  tall,  lumi- 
nous eyes,  dark  locks,  ivory  skin.  I  told  him  I  was  of  distinctly 
prepossessing  appearance.  Yes,  in  spite  of  your  opinion,  I 
ventured  to  tell  him  that.  Uncle  informs  me  so  frequently  that 
I  am  very  good-looking,  and  aunt  repeats  so  consistently  that  I 
am  exceedingly  plain,  I  feel  I  have  a  double  right  to  be  satisfied 
with  my  beauty.  Besides,  every  woman's  glass  declares  to  her 
that  her  appearance  is  prepossessing ;  it  is  the  one  reason  why 
I  fancy,  on  the  whole,  women's  lives  must  be  happier  than 
men's." 

"Did  you  put  all  that  in  the  advertisement?"  asked  Ursula, 
still  staring  stupidly  at  the  scrap  of  paper  on  the  bed. 

"  I — I  wrote  him  a  letter,  just  one." 

"  Addressed  to  '  Romeo  '  ?" 

"  To  *  Romeo  jde  Lieven.'  *     Isn't  it  a  charming  name  ?" 

"It's  an  assumed  name.  Imagine  a  Dutchman  called  Ro- 
meo !" 

"  Of  course,  it's  a  pseudonym,  like  Carmen  Sylva.  I  wasn't 
clever  enough  to  think  of  one  ;  besides,  I^ate  subterfuges.  So 
I  just  put  my  own  name,  H.  V. — Harriet  Verveen." 

J 

*  To  love. 


Harriet's  romance  51 

"  Harriet,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  wrote  a  signed  love- 
letter  you  don't  in  the  least  know  to  whom  ?" 

"  Love-letter,  no.  I  told  him  who  I  was  and  what  I  wanted. 
Besides,  I  shall  know  him  to-morrow." 

"  You're  not  going." 

Once  more  Harriet  assumed  her  almost  defiant  attitude. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going,"  she  said.     "  So  there  !" 

"What  do  you  think?"  she  suddenly  burst  out.  "  It's  all 
very  well  for  you  comfortable,  sheltered  girls,  at  home.  What's 
to  become  of  the  likes  of  me  if  we  don't  look  out  for  ourselves  ? 
Nobody  '11  help  to  find  me  a  husband  or  a  hiding-place.  No- 
body '11  ever  do  anything  for  me  except  abuse  me  because  I  do 
things  for  myself." 

"  But  /  haven't  had  a  lover  found  for  me,"  interposed  Ursula. 
"  It  seems  so  unwomanly — " 

"  Womanly  !     There  we  have  the  word — womanly  !" 

Harriet's  words  came  stumbling  and  tossing ;  she  thrust  out 
her  limbs  and  the  muslin  fell  away  from  them.  "  It's  womanly 
to  live  on  day  by  day  in  bitterness,  with  every  womanly  feeling 
hourly  insulted  and  estranged  ;  after  a  year  more,  perhaps,  of 
this,  to  go  to  some  fresh  situation  and  look  after  other  people's 
children,  and  when  you  are  worn  out  at  last,  to  die,  soured  and 
in  want.  That's  honest  independence,  that's  womanly  modesty. 
Well,  then,  I'm  immodest.  Do  you  understand  me?"  She 
threw  herself  wildly  forward.  "  I'm  immodest.  I  want  love. 
I  told  you  just  now  I  didn't  want  the  old  scoundrel's  money.  I 
don't.  But  I  want  love.  I  want  love.  And  I  mean  to  have  it. 
A  woman  has  a  right  to  love  and  be  loved.  I  won't  be  some 
lazy  rich  woman's  substitute,  with  brats  I  don't  care  for.  I  want 
to  love  children  of  my  own.  Children  that  love  me  when  I 
kiss  them.  I  love  my  own  body."  She  fell  back  again,  and  her 
eager  voice  died  into  a  pensive  murmur ;  while  speaking,  she 
softly  stroked  her  rounded  arm.  "  I  love  it,  and  I  want  others 
to  love  it  also.  I  want  it  to  belong  to  some  one  besides  my 
lonely  self.  Great  Heaven,  don't  you  understand  ?" — her  tone 
grew  shrill  again — "  one's  youth  goes — goes.  But  you  don't 
understand."  She  stopped  abruptly,  just  in  time,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hand. 


52  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Ursula  knew  not  how  to  speak  or  act.  There  was  only  one 
thing  she  wanted  to  do  ;  so  she  did  it.  She  put  an  arm  round 
Harriet's  neck  and  kissed  her.  But  the  girl  shook  herself  free, 
and,  without  another  word,  hurried  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE     TRYST 

The  next  day  passed  in  an  atmosphere  of  sombre  expectation. 
Ursula  and  Harriet  barely  spoke  to  one  another;  the  latter 
seemed  to  be  holding  aloof.  Mynheer  Mopius  took  his  niece 
the  round  of  the  house  amid  a  steady  flow  of  self-laudation,  and 
Ursula  put  in  pleasing  adjectives  as  full-stops.  He  showed 
her  everything,  even  to  the  water-supply  and  the  wine-cellar. 
There  was  but  one  exception,  his  wife's  store-cupboard  ;  Me- 
vrouw  Mopius,  to  his  annoyance,  actually  held  out  in  refusing 
the  key.  But  he  found  a  compensation  in  unmitigated  china 
and  glass. 

After  a  morning  thus  profitably  spent,  the  afternoon  brought 
a  long  drive  and  a  visit  to  a  flower  show.  The  drive  was  mere- 
ly an  opportunity  for  parading  Mynheer  Mopius's  equipage 
among  the  beauties  of  nature,  but  that  gentleman  was  made 
happy,  after  prolonged  anxiety  and  craning,  by  meeting  the  very 
people  he  was  desirous  should  see  it.  The  visit  to  the  exhibi- 
tion, however,  must  be  regarded  as  an  act  of  kindness  to  his 
guest,  for  the  committee  had  had  the  manifest  stupidity  to 
award  Mynheer  Mopius's  double  dahlias  a  third  prize. 

In  the  gardens  Ursula  espied  Gerard  with  his  cousin  Helena 
among  a  crowd  of  stylish-looking  people,  whom  Jacobus  de- 
scribed as  "  swells."  She  had  received,  that  morning,  the 
promised  card  for  the  Baroness  van  Trossart's  party,  and  she 
would  gladly  have  sought  an  occasion  of  thanking  the  sender, 
but  to  this  proposal  her  uncle,  in  a  sudden  fit  of  shyness,  op- 
posed resolute  and  almost  rampant  refusal, 

"  I  don't  want  to  know  the  people,"  he  repeated,  excitedly, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  distinguished  group  by  the  central  lake. 


64  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  say  to  them.  Ursula,  you 
belong  to  my  party.     I  desire  you  to  stay  where  you  are." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  replied  .  Ursula,  offended;  "though,  of 
course,  I  should  not  have  gone  up  to  him  as  long  as  he  was 
conversing  with  that  violet-nosed  old  woman  in  blue." 

"  That  lady  is  the  wife  of  the  Governor,  and  I  will  thank  you 
to  speak  of  her  with  more  respect." 

Ursula  listened  in  amazement.  She  was  not  enough  a  stu- 
dent of  human  nature  to  explain  her  uncle's  change  of  front. 
She  went  and  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  her  aunt,  with  a  few 
kind  words  about  the  weather. 

"  Oh,  beautiful !"  gasped  Mevrouw  Mopius.  "  Jacobus,  don't 
you  think  it  is  time  we  went  home  ?" 

Jacobus  assented,  and  in  the  midst  of  plans  for  to-morrow 
sought  to  impress  upon  Ursula  the  number  and  importance  of 
his  acquaintances  as  instanced  by  frequent  salutes. 

Ursula  came  upon  her  aunt  alone  in  the  drawing-room  half 
an  hour  before  dinner.  The  vast  apartment  was  darkened  to  a 
mellow  glow  behind  its  yellow  Venetians.  Mevrouw  Mopius  sat 
with  closed  eyes  and  cavernous  cheeks  before  her  unused  frame. 
She  stirred  as  the  door  opened,  and  beckoned  her  niece  to  her 
side. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice,  "  come  and  sit  by  me 
for  a  minute.  I  have  something  to  ask  you."  Ursula  obeyed. 
"  Your  uncle  was  speaking  of  the  opera  for  to-morrow  night.  I 
want  you  to  tell  him  you  don't  care  to  go." 

"  But  I  do  care,"  objected  the  girl.  "  I  think  it's  simply 
glorious.     I've  never  been  to  the  opera  before." 

"  My  dear,  I  can  assure  you  it's  not  worth  seeing.  The 
singers  make  such  a  noise  you  can't  hear  a  word  they  say.  Not 
that  that  matters,  for  they  always  say  the  same  thing." 

"  Oh,  but  I  should  like  it,"  repeated  Ursula. 

"  Say,  for  my  sake,  that  you  don't  care  to  go."  Mevrouw 
Mopius's  manner  became  very  nervous.  "  Ursula,  I  can't  go 
out  at  night.     Have  you  set  your  heart  on  this  performance  ?" 

"Yes,  aunt,"  said  the  girl,  frankly;  "but,  even  if  I  hadn't,  I 
shouldn't  know  of  any  valid  excuse.  However,  I  can  very  well 
go  with  Harriet  and  uncle.     I'll  tell  him  you'd  rather  not." 


THE    TRYST  55 

Mevrouw  Mopiiis  clutched  her  arm.  "  Hold  your  tongue," 
she  said,  quite  roughly.  "  I  didn't  want  to  have  you  here.  I 
tell  you  so  honestly.  I  knew  it  would  be  like  this.  It  was 
Jacobus.  Poor  fellow,  I  suppose  he  felt  how  dull  the  house 
was  getting."  She  paused  meditatively.  "  He'd  never  go 
without  me  ;  he  wouldn't  enjoy  himself." 

"  I'm  sure  I  didn't  ask  to  come,"  protested  Ursula,  "  but  now 
I'm  here,  I  can't  begin  inventing  a  parcel  of  lies.  You  must 
tell  uncle  yourself,  aunt,  please." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  tightened  her  grip  till  the  nails  dug  into 
the  flesh.  She  turned  her  dull  eyes  full  on  Ursula.  "Girl," 
she  gasped,  "  what  are  you,  with  your  little  pleasures  or  preju- 
dices to  come  athwart  such  a  sorrow  as  mine  ?  I'll  tell  you  my 
secret,  if  it  must  be.  Swear,  first,  that  you'll  not  breathe  it  to 
a  living  soul." 

Ursula  was  alarmed  by  her  aunt's  earnest  manner.  "  I  can't 
swear,"  she  said  in  a  flurry,  "  but  I'll  promise.  I  never  swore 
in  my  life." 

"  Swear,"  repeated  the  other  woman  under  her  breath ;  un- 
consciously she  tightened  her  grasp  till  Ursula  shrieked  aloud. 
"Hush!  Are  you  mad?  He'll  hear.  Oh,  is  that  it?"  She 
relaxed  her  hold.     "  Fool,  did  you  never  feel  pain  ?" 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  gasped  Ursula,  now  thoroughly  fright- 
ened, convinced  that  her  aunt  must  have  mad  fits  of  which  no 
one  had  spoken. 

"Swear,  I  tell  you.  Say,  so  help  me,  God  Almighty. 
Louder.  Let  me  hear  it.  Now,  listen.  I'm  ill,  incurably  ill. 
Never  mind  what  the  doctor  calls  the  illness.  Enough  that  he 
says  I  can't  live  beyond  two  months.  Perhaps  he's  mistaken. 
They  often  are.  Not  that  I  want  to  live.  Not  in  this  agony, 
my  God  !  Not  except  for  him.  Ursula,  your  uncle  knows 
nothing.  I  don't  want  him  to  know.  I'd  bear  twice  as  much, 
if  I  could,  so  that  he  shouldn't  know.  Poor  fellow,  he  has  his 
faults,  perhaps,  but  he's  so  soft-hearted,  he  can't  bear  to  see 
suffering,  not  even  to  hear  of  it.  There,  now,  I  have  told  you. 
I've  never  told  a  living  soul,  as  I  said.  I  can  hide  it  from  him, 
Ursula,  if  things  go  on  as  usual.  But  I  can't  go  taking  long  drives, 
or  to  flower-shows,  and  oh,  Ursula,  dear,  I  cari't  go  out  at  night." 


66  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Ursula  was  dumb-struck  with  horror  and  pity.  Still,  she 
could  not  help  feeling,  even  at  that  moment,  that  her  visit  to 
her  uncle  was  becoming  hopelessly  perplexed.  She  had  ex- 
pected a  round  of  gayeties,  all  the  delights  of  a  debut. 

"  I'll  do  whatever  you  wish  me  to,"  she  said,  helplessly. 
"  Oh,  aunt,  I'm  so  sorry,  but  I  hope  you'll  get  better.  Father 
says  doctors  never  know." 

"  Not  about  curing,  they  don't,"  replied  her  aunt,  grimly. 
"Now,  Ursula,  remember,  not  a  word.  It's  a  secret  between 
you  and  me.  I  don't  think  it  '11  be  for  very  long.  Move  away  ; 
I  hear  some  one  coming  I" 

Harriet  entered  the  room  with  her  novel  under  her  arm. 
Presently  she  looked  up  at  Mevrouw  Mopius's  deathly  counte- 
nance lying  back  as  if  asleep,  and  nodded  meaningly  to  Ursula. 
Mynheer  Mopius  came  in,  and  his  wife  sat  up.  ''  Jacobus,"  she 
said,  "  you  were  laughing  at  the  blueness  of  my  sky  yester- 
day. I  saw  one  in  the  exhibition  aviary  that  was  every  bit 
as  blue." 

"  But  did  you  look  at  the  real  article  up  above  us  ?"  ques- 
tioned Jacobus. 

"  No,"  admitted  Mevrouw  Mopius,  "  I  didn't  think  of  that." 

Harriet  rose  hurriedly  from  dessert.  "  Aunt  is  tired,"  she 
said.  "  You  must  excuse  us,  uncle,"  and  she  offered  Mevrouw 
her  arm.  At  the  door  she  turned.  "  You  don't  want  me  just 
now,  I  suppose?"  she  continued.  "I  am  going  out  to  get  a 
breath  of  fresh  air." 

"  Yes,"  added  Ursula  quickly,  "  Harriet  and  I  are  going  for 
a  walk." 

A  moment  later  the  two  girls  met  on  the  bedroom-landing. 
Both  were  dressed  to  go  out.  Harriet  had  a  white  feather  on 
her  hat,  and  a  red  shawl  over  one  arm.  "  Leave  me  alone,  can't 
you  ?"  said  Harriet.  She  spoke  fiercely,  and  a  gesture  escaped 
her  which  was  almost  a  menace. 

"  No,  I'm  going  with  you,"  replied  Ursula,  quietly. 

"  Indeed  you  sha'n't.  What  a  fool  I  was  to  tell  you.  Women 
always  are  fools  to  ask  sympathy  from  each  other." 

"I  shall  not  be  in  your  way,"  persisted  Ursula,  with  coaxing 


THE    TRYST  57 

decision.  "  Let  me  wait  with  you  till  he  comes,  if  he  comes, 
and  then  I  can  step  aside." 

"  Of  course  he  will  come,"  said  Harriet.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
thought  of  this  certain  triumph  which  induced  her  to  forbear 
all  further  opposition  to  Ursula's  accompanying  her. 

"  I  bought  this  shawl,"  began  Harriet,  as  they  walked  through 
the  shadowed  streets.  "  I  had  to  pawn  my  only  brooch  to  get 
it." 

"  Does  uncle  allow  you  no  pocket-money  ?"  asked  Ursula. 

"Ten  florins  a  month,"  replied  Harriet,  bitterly.  "I  spend 
most  of  it  in  scents  and  chocolate-creams.  They  are  my  one 
consolation.  I  adore  chocolate-creams.  Do  you  ?  We  might 
get  some  now.     I've  got  a  florin  left  from  the  brooch-money." 

"Let  me  buy  them  this  time,"  suggested  Ursula,  sympa- 
thetically. 

"  Very  well.     I  like  the  pink  kind  best." 

It  was  still  light,  but  a  veil  had  already  fallen  over  the  low- 
sinking  sun.  The  hot,  sleepy  streets  were  waking  up  in  the  red 
glow  of  the  fading  day.  People  in  the  town,  now  that  the 
glare  had  died  from  their  eyes,  were  telling  each  other  that  the 
air  was  cool,  and  trying  to  believe  it. 

Outside,  however,  the  assertion  had  more  truth  in  it.  A 
ripple  of  refreshment  was  slowly  spreading  up  from  the  distant 
river.  The  shadows  of  the  straight-lined  trees  lay  across  the 
brick  road  in  great  black  stripes.  The  fields  looked  as  if  their 
dusty  grass  was  turning  green  again  beneath  the  darkening  sky  ; 
in  the  dull  ditches  stood  the  cattle,  dreamily  content. 

The  girls  walked  on  in  silence  till  they  reached  a  point  where 
the  road  swerved  off  into  a  little  thicket.  This  was  the  spot 
which  Romeo  must  have  had  in  his  mind.  It  was  very  quiet 
and  sequestered.  They  stood  looking  at  each  other,  still  in 
silence.     Harriet's  pale  cheeks  were  flushed. 

Evening  was  now  rapidly  closing  in ;  great  folds  of  gray 
shadow  seemed  to  come  broadening  over  the  landscape ;  not  a 
sound  was  heard  but  the  faint  whiz  of  some  tiny  gnats. 

Suddenly  the  clear  chimes  began  to  play  from  the  slender 
ball-topped  tower,  which  stood  out  black,  like  a  monstrous 
ninepin,  against  the  yellow  western  sky.      The  eyes  of   the 


68  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

watchers  met.  Eight  slow  strokes  came  trembling  heavily 
across  the  hush  of  sunset.  At  the  other  end  of  the  long, 
straight  road  a  figure  appeared,  as  yet  quite  indistinct.  They 
watched.     They  could  hear  each  other's  hearts  beat. 

When  it  drew  nearer  they  saw  that  it  was  a  woman.  Harriet 
gave  a  great  gasp  of  relief.  A  moment  later  it  had  come  quite 
close  to  them.  And  both  saw  simultaneously  that  the  woman 
wore  a  white  feather  and  a  scarlet  shawl. 

She  passed  them  suspiciously  ;  she  was  an  independent-look- 
ing, weather-beaten  female  of  some  forty  wintry  winters — all 
angles  and  frost.  After  a  moment  she  halted,  and  hesitatingly 
retraced  her  steps. 

The  last  glow  paled  away  from  the  horizon.  In  the  ashen 
grayness  it  even  seemed  to  Ursula  that  the  little  breeze  from 
the  marshes  blew  cold.  The  long  road  lay  motionless,  gradually 
shortening  into  night. 

"  A  fine  evening,  young  ladies,"  said  the  red-shawled  female, 
stopping  abruptly  near  them,  and  suddenly  opening  an  enor- 
mous parasol ;  "  but  it's  getting  late." 

"  It's  not  much  beyond  eight,"  replied  Ursula,  for  want  of  an 
answer. 

"  Nine  minutes,"  said  the  female,  with  precision.  "  Nine  full 
minutes  past  8  p.m.  Perhaps  I  may  remark  to  you,  ladies, 
that  this  spot  is  unhealthy  after  sunset — very  particularly  un- 
healthy. The  back-sillies,  as  modern  science  calls  them,  come 
up  from  the  water  and  produce  injurious  smells.  If  I  were  you 
I  should  be  careful — very  particularly  careful."  She  turned  on 
one  heel,  but  suddenly  bethought  herself. 

"  I,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head — the  white  feather  waved — 
"  am  compelled  by  the  call  of  duty  to  remain.  I  am  waiting 
for  some  one — an  engagement."  She  spok6  the  last  word  with 
triumphant  pomposity.  Its  double  meaning  evidently  furnished 
her  extreme  satisfaction.  She  repeated  it  twice,  and  jingled  a 
small  reticule  depending  from  a  cotton-gloved  wrist. 

"  I  know  of  a  case,"  she  went  on  immediately,  seeing  that 
neither  girl  moved  or  spake,  "  when  a  young  person  (much  of 
your  age)  spent  an  evening  out  here  in  this  wood.  Her  reasons 
for  doing  so  I  distinctly  decline  to  enter  into.     They  were  not 


THE     TRYST 


59 


laudable,  you  may  be  sure ;  no  young  girl's  would  be.  Well, 
she  caught  the  myasthma  and  died.     She  died^ 

All  the  time  she  was  holding  forth  the  speaker  peered  anx- 
iously to  right  and  left  in  the  darkness. 

"Duty,"  she  added,  "as  I  told  you,  compels  me  to  remain. 
But  I  do  so  at  the  risk  of  my  health." 

"  You  lying  old  humbug  !"  said  a  deep  voice  behind  her  in 
the  darkness.  "Then  what  have  you  got  that  red  shawl  on  for, 
eh?" 

The  victim  to  duty  spun  round  as  if  shot. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Maria  ?"  she  said.  "  I  know  what  you're 
here  for.  Spying,  spying  ;  that's  your  errand,  you  nasty,  en- 
vious thing." 

"  Then  you're  wrong,  that's  all.  I'm  here  on  a  fool's  errand 
of  my  own,  like  yourself." 

A  short,  fat  woman  stepped  into  the  faint  reflection  of  a 
distant  lantern,  and  they  saw  that  she  also  wore  a  red  shawl ! 
Not  even  courtesy  could  describe  this  lady  as  of  "  uncertain 
age." 

"  Seems  to  me,"  she  continued,  "  you  and  I  needn't  have  been 
so  mighty  close  with  each  other.  Nor  you  needn't  have  crowed 
over  me  as  you  did,  Isabella.  I  don't  see  that  your  lover  was 
so  much  smarter  than  mine." 

"  Oh,  Harriet,  come  away,"  whispered  Ursula,  breaking  a 
long  silence. 

Harriet  laughed  hoarsely.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  I'm  going  to 
see  this  comedy  out." 

"And  as  for  those  young  ladies  there,"  Maria  went  on, 
"they've  as  much  right  to  be  here  as  we  have — at  least,  the  one 
with  the  red  shawl  over  her  arm  has.  Yes,  my  dear,  you  needn't 
try  to  smuggle  it  away  behind  your  neighbor.  You're  here 
from  a  sense  of  duty,  as  much  as  ever  my  friend  Isabella  is.  I 
wonder  how  many  more  of  us  have  answered  this  advertise- 
[ment?" 

"  One  more  has,"  said  a  young  voice,  and  a  pretty,  fair  little 
Icreature,  looking  like  a  dress-maker's  assistant,  stole  from  behind 
|a  tree  into  the  ring. 

"That  makes  five  of  us,"  announced  the  fat  woman,  with  a 


60  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

nod  to  Ursula.  ''  It  was  mean  of  you  yonder  to  be  ashamed  of 
your  colors.  Well,  men  were  deceivers  ever,  and,  girls,  we've 
been  once  more  deceived." 

"  It  was  I  advertised  first,  not  he,"  said  the  pretty  girl, 
defiantly. 

"  So  did  I,"  Harriet  admitted.     "  We  may  as  well  be  fair." 

"  Well,  so  did  I,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  declared  the  fat  woman. 
"  And  so  did  you,  Isabella ;  we  needn't  ask  you.  And  so  did 
that  featherless  girl,  I  dare  say.  I  don't  see  that  it  makes 
much  difference.  And  it  was  Romeo  de  Lieven,  was  it,  as 
told  you  all  to  come  here  ?" 

"All,"  said  the  whole  chorus.  They  had  gradually  drawn 
nearer  to  one  of  the  rare  street  lamps  which  make  a  dismal 
haze  at  far  intervals  along  the  dark  road.  They  stood  in  a 
circle,  with  unconsciously  uplifted  parasols,  and  all  around 
them  was  the  soft  night,  and  the  little  wind,  and  the  damp 
smell  of  the  water. 

"  Then  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  go  home  again. 
Come  along,  Isabella,  you  can  sing  me  the  praises  of  your  lover 
as  we  go." 

"  I  solemnly  swear,"  said  the  sour  spinster,  in  sepulchral  tones, 
"  never  to  trust  a  man  again.     Ah,  I  could  tell  you  a  story — " 

"  There's  no  time  for  that  now,"  interrupted  her  friend, 
briskly.  "As  for  solemnly  swearing,  I  don't  object.  Ladies, 
you  see  what  they  are,  these  men.  Imagine  what  would  have 
happened  to  you  if  this  Romeo  had  come,  and  any  of  you'd 
married  him.  No,  Romeo,  we  will  not  marry.  Let  us  promise, 
each  one  of  us,  after  to-night's  experience,  to  turn  our  backs  on 
them  forever." 

All  of  them,  except  Ursula,  lifted  their  arms  on  high.  In 
chorus  they  sang  out,  "  We  promise,"  and  even  as  they  did 
so  a  vehicle  suddenly  loomed  through  the  darkness,  a  high  trap, 
devoid  of  carriage  lights,  occupied  by  three  or  four  officers  in 
uniform. 

"  Way  there,  please,"  said  a  voice  which  Ursula  recognized. 
The  women  scattered  on  one  side,  all  looking  up  involuntarily. 
The  dim  light  of  the  lantern  fell  full  on  their  faces,  and,  for  one 
instant,  Gerard  saw  Ursula's  features  quite  plainly.     She  shrank 


THE    TRYST  61 

back;  how  she  hoped  that  he  had  not  recognized  her!  She 
thought  not. 

The  dog-cart  passed  down  the  road,  and  presently  the  young 
men  were  heard  laughing  heartily.  This  masculine  hilarity 
seemed  to  exasperate  the  buxom  Maria. 

"  Let  us  bind  ourselves,"  she  said,  "  to  meet  together  next 
year,  at  this  spot  and  this  hour,  and  to  prove  to  each  other  that 
each  has  kept  her  word." 

"  We  promise,"  said  the  others,  in  taking  leave. 

But,  when  the  anniversary  came  round,  be  it  noted  here, 
Maria  marched  to  her  solitary  vigil.  The  two  younger  women 
had  broken  their  vow,  and  the  weather  -  beaten  spinster  much 
wanted  them  to  believe  that  she  had  broken  hers. 

Not  a  word  was  exchanged  between  the  two  girls  on  their 
homeward  way.  Ursula  felt  heartily  relieved  when  she  found 
herself  once  more  safe  in  the  drawing-room.  Harriet  had  a 
headache,  and  Ursula  poured  out  tea.  Mynheer  Mopius  took 
an  opportunity  of  praising  her  concoction  as  a  set-off  against 
Harriet's. 

"  Of  course  it's  her  fault,"  he  argued,  "  not  that  of  the  tea. 
How  could  it  be  ? — best  Java  imported." 

"  Uncle  Jacobus,"  began  Ursula,  emboldened  by  this  approval, 
"  I  don't  care  about  the  opera  to-morrow.  I'd  as  lief  stay  at 
home."     Her  hand  trembled,  and  she  blushed  crimson. 

Mynheer  Mopius  set  down  his  teacup  cautiously,  for  it  was 
best  Japan.  "  Well,  of  all  the  deceiving  minxes !"  he  said. 
*'  And  to  hear  her  go  on  this  afternoon  in  the  carriage  !  Ursu- 
la, you  are  insincere." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  sat  quite  motionless.  Her  niece  did  not 
venture  to  glance  her  way. 

"  Well,  of  course,"  said  Mynheer,  in  the  silence, "  you  must 
know.  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  to  waste  my  money,  and  no 
thanks  for  my  pains.  After  I'd  sent  round  to  the  stationer's, 
too,  for  the  book  of  words  you  said  you  would  like  to  have.  I'm 
very  much  disappointed  in  you,  Ursula.     I  can't  make  it  out." 

"  Operas  aren't  really  good,"  piped  Mevrouw  Mopius's  tremu- 
lous voice.  "  They're  not  a  bit  like  real  life.  I  never  had  any- 
thing happen  to  me  like  an  opera." 


62  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Mynheer  Mopiiis  slapped  his  knee.  "  I  have  it,"  he  cried ; 
"it's  some  religious  nonsense  of  your  father's.  Well,  if  it 
don't  rise  to  the  surface  quicker,  there  can't  be  much  of  it. 
Come  along,  wife,  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  her.  Come  along ; 
let's  play  and  sing." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  staggered  to  her  feet.  Ursula  remained  in 
the  half-light  of  the  front  room.  Husband  and  wife  spent  the 
rest  of  the  evening  at  the  piano. 

.    '*  Dear  love,  for  thee  I  would  lay  down  my  li-i-ife, 
For  without  thee  what  would  that  life  avail  ? 
If  thy  hand  but  lift  the  fatal  kni-i-ife, 
I  smile,  I  faint,  and  bid  sweet  death  all  hail," 

sang  Mynheer  Mopius.     And  Ursula  listened.     And  Mevrouw 
Mopius  played. 


CHAPTER  IX 
otto's  wooing 

"  Plush,"  said  the  Baroness  van  Helmont,  addressing  her 
silken  favorite,  "  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  have  an  incompatible 
child." 

Plush  made  no  answer,  but  from  the  other  end  of  the  room 
came  Otto's  reply :  "  I  can't  help  it,  mother.  I  suppose  you 
made  me  what  I  am." 

"I  ?  Never  in  my  life.  I  could  not  have  produced  anything 
so  strong.  Plush  and  I,  we  are  in  harmony ;  we  take  the  same 
view  of  existence." 

She  languidly  entangled  her  fingers  in  the  meshes  of  her  dar- 
ling's soft  white  hair.  The  lapdog,  on  her  crimson  cushion, 
laid  two  delicate  little  slender-wristed  paws,  that  looked  as  if 
encased  in  a  perfect  fit  of  -peau  de  Suede,  over  a  bright  black 
button  of  a  nose.  The  pair  of  them,  lady  and  lapdog,  looked 
born  to  undulate. 

"  You  are  resolved,  then,"  continued  the  Baroness,  "  to  return 
to  Java  as  soon  as  you  again  get  tired  of  us." 

"  Tired  of  you  !  Mother  !"  His  emotion  made  him  both  un- 
able and  unwilling  to  say  more. 

"  Tired  or  not,  in  a  few  months  you  will  once  more  leave  us. 
Otto,  it  will  break  your  father's  heart." 

This  prophecy  Otto  considered  a  decidedly  doubtful  one. 

"  I  never  understood  why  you  first  went,"  continued  the 
Baroness.  "  Gerard  stays.  Everybody  I  know  stays.  Fifteen 
years  ago  you  must  suddenly  resolve  to  learn  gentleman-farm- 
ing in  Germany.  It  sounds  so  silly,  '  gentleman  -  farming.' 
They  call  it  *  economy '  over  there  —  I  suppose  the  name 
pleased  you — and  after  a  year  or  two  you  came  back  and  said 


64  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

it   couldn't   be   done  without  plenty   of  money.     A   charming 
economy.     It  is  as  good  as  a  farce  !" 

"  That  is  true,  Otto,  is  it  not  ?"  she  added,  petulantly,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Quite  true,"  he  replied,  helplessly,  sitting  forward  on  a  little 
boudoir  chair,  his  brown  hands  hanging  joined  between  his 
heavy  legs. 

"  Well,  then,  after  that  you  must  hurry  away  to  plant  tea  in 
the  Indies,  as  if  there  were  not  enough  common  people  to  do 
that !  And  doing  it,  too.  I  never  heard  of  a  break-down  in 
the  tea -supply.  And  now  you  have  been  busied  there  for  a 
dozen  years,  and  what's  the  profit  to  you  or  to  any  one  ?  You're 
no  richer,  and  tea's  not  even  cheaper.  So  you've  benefited  nei- 
ther your  neighbor  nor  yourself."  The  Baroness  sighed.  Plush 
sighed  also,  her  whole  little  pink-tinted  body  a  sob  of  lethargic 
content. 

"  But  I've  been  earning  an  honest  living,"  burst  out  Otto, 
desperately.  It  was  all  so  useless ;  he  had  said  it  so  often  be- 
fore !  *'  At  least  I've  not  been  droning  through  my  whole  life, 
spending  father's  money,  and  knowing  all  the  time  that  in  fact 
there  was  no  money  to  spend.  Of  course,  I'd  hoped  to  come 
back  richer  from  India,  but  you  can't  understand  about  the 
crisis  in  the  tea-trade,  mother." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"At  any  rate,  however,  I've  paid  my  way.  I've  not  lived,  as 
Gerard  does,  in  a  constant  entanglement  of  bills  and  loans.  I 
don't  depend  for  my  daily  bread  on  the  mercy  of  the  Jews." 

"  Nor  does  Gerard,  thank  Heaven  !  though  he  may  for  his 
daily  champagne !"  cried  the  Baroness,  her  irrepressible  spright- 
liness  bubbling  uppermost.  "And  the  Jews,, as  your  father  al- 
ways says,  are  a  dispensation  of  Providence  for  the  survival  of 
the  fittest.  He  doesn't  mean  themselves.  They  keep  the  old 
families  above  water  till  smoother  times  work  round  again. 
Look  at  the  Van  Utrechts,  for  instance  ;  the  only  son  tried  to 
commit  suicide  for  want  of  a  friendly  Jew  !  And  four  months 
later  he  married  a  Rotterdam  oil-merchant's  daughter.  That's 
what  Gerard  will  do;  only,  in  his  case,  I  do  hope  and  pray  that 
the  man  who  made  the  money  will  be  a  generation  farther  off. 


otto's  wooing  65 

And  on  the  mother's  side."  The  Baroness  sank  back  reflect- 
ively, and,  for  the  liundredth  time,  a  procession  of  ticketed 
young  ladies  passed  before  her  pale  blue  eyes. 

"Otto,"  she  said,  "you  know  the  desire  of  our  hearts.  It  is 
that  you  marry  Helena  van  Trossart.  Then  we  should  say, 
*  Lord,  now  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace.'  " 

"  Catch  my  father  saying  that,"  cried  Otto,  roughly,  with  holy 
horror  in  his  honest  eyes. 

The  Baroness  stopped  him  by  an  imperious  gesture. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  Otto,"  she  said.  "  Please 
don't  be  profane.  Yes,  I  desire  above  all  things  to  see  this 
marriage  consummated.  Gerard  will  do  well  in  any  case.  And, 
after  all,  it  is  you  who  will  one  day  be  Baron  Helmont  of  the 
Horst.  You,  our  first,  our  eldest."  She  checked  herself,  hold- 
ing out  her  thin  white  hand,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  love. 

Otto  took  the  hand  in  his  own  and  kissed  it. 

"  You  might  try,  Otto,"  continued  the  Baroness.  "  You 
don't  know  her ;  she  was  a  child  when  you  went  away.  There 
is  no  sense  in  your  refusing  to  find  out  whether  you  could  like 
her  or  not.  The  marriage  would  end  all  difficulties  for  good, 
and  you  could  remain  with  us." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  asked  Otto,  heavily. 

"  Supposing  you  were  to  go  to  Drum  to-day,  and  see  them. 
You  might  stay  over  their  dance,  which  is  to-morrow  night.  It 
would  be  a  pretty  attention.  I  feel  sure  the  coast  is  clear,  and 
she  thinks  you  interesting.  She  told  me  so  herself,  when  they 
dined  here ;  she  considers  your  life  one  long  romance." 

"  Romance  is  the  word,"  said  Otto.  "  Well,  mother,  I'm  will- 
ing to  go."  He  took  up  the  Graphic  from  a  side-table,  and 
silence  brooded  over  the  trio  till  the  Baron  came  in. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Baron,  eagerly,  his  eyes  alight,  "  I  must 
just  show  you  this;  the  carrier  brought  it.  It's  Feuillet's 
Jeune  Homme  Pauvre,  with  the  original  drawings  by  Mouchot, 
Isn't  it  charming  ?     I  had  it  over  from  Fontaine." 

The  Baroness  took  the  volume,  disturbing  Plush. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  as  she  turned  over  the  pages.  "  It's  very 
nice.     But  I  can't  help  preferring  my  old  friend,  Johannot." 

"How    unkind!"    said    the    Baron,  plaintively,   "Johannot 

6 


66  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

couldn't  be  expected  to  illustrate  everything,  especially  not  the 
books  that  were  written  after  he  died." 

He  turned  to  his  son. 

"  I  sha'n't  show  it  to  you,  Otto,  for  you'd  only  ask  how  much 
it  cost." 

"  Oh,  don't,"  interposed  the  Baroness. 

"  And  yet  this  is  quite  a  bargain.  Only  625  francs,  and  the 
binding  by  David." 

"  My  dear,  I  don't  care.     Besides,  I  have  forgotten  already."    * 

"  Lucky  woman,"  the  Baron  laughed.  "  I,  at  least,  must  re- 
member till  it's  paid.  What's  the  matter,  Jan  ?" — this  to  a  ser- 
v|int  who  appeared  in  the  open  door.  "  You  can  clear  away  the 
papers  on  the  library  floor." 

"There's  a  poor  woman  at  the  kitchen  entrance  asking  to  see 
you,  sir,"  said  the  man.  "  She  says  you  know  all  about  her. 
Her  name  is  Vrouw  Klop,  from  the  cottages  by  Horstwyk 
Mill" 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  creature  in  my  life !"  cried  the  Baron. 

"I  know  her,"  remarked  Mevrouw,  quietly.  "Her  husband 
drinks." 

"  Saving  your  presence,  Mevrouw,"  said  Jan,  without  moving 
a  muscle,  "  she  says  her  husband's  been  dead  these  seven 
years." 

"  Well,  if  he  had  lived,  he'd  have  drunk,"  replied  the  Baron- 
ess, indifferently.  "And,  besides,  if  she's  been  a  widow  so 
long  she  must  have  children  earning  something." 

Otto  got  up  and  walked  towards  the  window. 

"  Send  her  away,"  exclaimed  the  Baron.  "  It's  like  her  in- 
solence, asking  for  me !" 

"  She  says  she  has  a  letter  from  the  Burgomaster,  mynheer," 
gently  persisted  the  servant.  Menials  are  always  pamperedly 
insolent  to  mendicants  or  aggressively  sympathetic  regarding 
them.     They  are  never  indifferent. 

"Then  why  didn't  you  bring  it  up  ?  Why  doesn't  she  go  to 
the  relieving  officer  ?  I  can't  be  bothered.  There,  give  her  a 
twopenny  bit,  and  let  her  go." 

Otto  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out. 

"  The  people  are  unendurable,"  said  the  Baron,  as  the  servant 


OTTO  S    WOOING  67 

departed.  "  Always  wanting  something,  and  always  asking  for 
it.     As  if  it  were  our  duty  to  supply  unlimited  gin  !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Baroness,  "  and  the  respectable  poor  never 
beg.  This  illustration  is  charming,  Theodore  ;  I  think  it  is  the 
best  of  all.     What  a  sweet  face  the  girl  has  !" 

She  held  up  the  beautiful  blue  morocco  volume  to  the  light. 

Otto  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out. 

Helena  van  Trossart  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  influential 
families  in  Holland.  Her  mother  had  been  a  sister  of  the  Baron 
van  Helmont;  both  mother  and  father  were  long  since  dead. 
She  lived  with  an  uncle  and  aunt  on  the  other  side,  Trossarts, 
like  herself,  and  rich,  like  herself,  with  Trossart  money.  The 
uncle  and  aunt  were  childless,  and  affectionately  interested  in 
their  beautiful  heiress,  of  whom  they  felt  proud  to  think  as  the 
greatest  parti  in  the  province.  The  Baroness  was  portly  and 
comfortable  ;  she  had  never  known  any  but  comfortable  people 
all  her  life.  The  Baron,  a  fine  old  gentleman  with  silver-striped 
hair,  was  concerned  in  the  government  of  the  country,  which 
means  that  he  occupied  his  time  in  procuring  lucrative  posts  for 
his  wife's  poor  relations,  of  whose  poverty  he  lived  in  monoto- 
nous dread. 

The  fine  old  double  mansion  which  the  Van  Trossarts  inhab- 
ited stood  on  a  green  canal  behind  a  sombre  row  of  chestnuts. 
Grass  grew  between  the  paving-stones,  and  iron  chains  swung 
heavily  from  post  to  post.  Not  a  street  boy  passed  but  pulled 
those  chains.  The  street  boy  of  Holland  is  unparalleled  in  Eu- 
rope, a  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness,  and  a  destruction 
that  wasteth  at  noonday,  but  here  you  could  hardly  take  offence 
at  him,  for  he  imparted  an  element  of  liveliness  to  as  dead  a 
corner  as  dull  respectability  could  desire  to  dwell  in.  The  out- 
side of  the  house  wore  that  aspect  of  dignified  dilapidation 
which  is  characteristic  of  hereditary  wealth.  Inside  nothing 
was  new,  except  in  Helena's  apartments,  nor  was  anything  worn 
out. 

"Mamma,"  said  the  Freule  Helena  —  she  called  her  foster- 
mother  "  mamma  " — "  I  have  a  note  from  Gerard.  He  asks 
whether  he  may  bring  Otto  round  to  lunch  in  half  an  hour's 


68  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

time.  Otto,  it  appears,  has  turned  up  for  the  day.  The  orderly 
is  waiting.    I  suppose  I  had  better  say  yes." 

**  Stop  a  moment  while  I  ring  and  ask  how  many  pigeons 
there  are,"  replied  the  Baroness,  who  was  eminently  practical. 

*'  You  wouldn't  keep  them  away  because  of  that !"  cried  Helena, 
laughing. 

"  Indeed  I  should.  Gerard  detests  cold  meat.  And  there's 
nothing  a  man  resents  like  getting  what  he  doesn't  eat  in  a 
house  where  his  tastes  are  known.  You've  asked  people  enough 
unexpectedly  already." 

"  Only  Georgetta  van  Troyen  and  her  brother.  That  was  to 
escape  a  tete-a-tete  with  Mechteld  van  Weylert.  We  shall  be 
quite  a  small  party." 

"  I  don't  mind  large  parties,  like  to-morrow's,"  replied  Me- 
vrouw  van  Trossart,  turning  from  a  confabulation  with  her  con- 
fidential maid.  "  Well,  tell  them  to  come.  Ann,  just  say  to 
the  man,  '  My  compliments,  and  the  Jonkers  *  are  welcome.' 
You  are  terribly  gay,  child  ;  you  can't  bear  a  moment  of 
quiet." 

"  Dear  mamma,  did  you  want  me  to  sit  all  the  afternoon  op- 
posite Maggie  van  Weylert  ?  Confess  though  she  is  your  niece, 
you  would  not  do  it  yourself.  With  some  women  conversation 
is  just  contradiction.  And  there  are  few  people  outside  this 
house,  except  Gerard,  I  care  to  be  alone  with.  No  guest,  or  a 
number,  that  is  my  view." 

"  Gerard  would  feel  flattered,"  replied  the  Baroness,  smiling 
over  her  plump  hands.  "  You  had  better  not  tell  him,  or  he  will 
ask  you  to  afford  him  the  opportunity  of  being  alone  together 
for  life." 

"  How  terrible  !  Mamma,  you  are  perfectly  ruthless.  There 
is  not  a  creature  in  the  world,  not  even  myself,  I  am  fond 
enough  of  for  that.  Besides,  surely  one  should  never  marry  a 
man  one  likes  to  be  alone  with  ;  it  is  the  most  fatal  way  of  dy- 
ing to  society  at  once."  She  laughed,  and  threw  back  the  yel- 
low curls  from  her  blue- veined  forehead  ;  she  was  all  pink  and 
gold,  like  a  bunch  of  wild  rose  and  laburnum.     <'  What  I  should 

*  Title  for  unmarried  sons  of  noblemen,  pronounced  *' Yonker." 


69 

like  to  do,"  she  went  on,  "  would  be  to  marry  Otto,  and  flirt  with 
Gerard  and  other  people.  But,  of  course,  it  would  be  horribly 
improper,  and  it  couldn't  be  done." 

"  Don't  be  silly,"  remonstrated  the  Baroness  van  Trossart, 
trying  to  frown.  "  You  are  getting  too  old,  Nellie,  for  say- 
ing things  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of.  Now  go  and  get 
ready." 

"  I  am  half  Otto's  age,"  replied  the  girl,  rising. 

"  That  may  be.  But  an  ingenue  should  die  at  nineteen.  We 
women,  my  dear,  are  inverted  butterflies,  and  marriage  is  our 
chrysalis,  as  your  future  mother-in-law  said  the  other  night.  I 
can't  imagine  where  she  gets  her  sayings  from,  I  suppose  she 
reads  them  somewhere.  But  neither  she  nor  I  would  like  to  see 
a  Baroness  van  Helmont  who  was  ingenue.'''' 

Helena  paused  in  the  doorway.  '■'■  Would  you  like  me,"  she 
asked,  "  some  day,  to  be  Baroness  van  Helmont  V 

"  My  dear,  you  might  be  a  worse  thing.  Personally,  if  you 
ask  me,  I  should  certainly  prefer  Otto,  little  as  I  know  of  him, 
to  Gerard.  Of  Gerard  I  should  say,  '  Pour  le  badinage,  bon. 
Pour  le  mariage,  non.'  And  then.  Otto  is  the  better  match,  the 
future  Baron.  You  two  could  restore,  together,  the  glories  of  the 
Horst." 

Helena  had  stood  listening,  thoughtfully.  Thought  did  not 
suit  her  soft-featured,  facile  face. 

"  But  you  must  do  what  you  like,  and  decide  for  your- 
self," added  her  aunt,  "  as,  with  your  character,  you  certainly 
will." 

"  I  thought  I  was  so  yielding,"  protested  Helena. 

"  You  are,  my  dear,  except  when  you  care." 

"  Then  it's  you  that  have  spoiled  me,"  answered  Helena,  trip- 
ping off. 

The  Baroness  looked  after  her.  "  Dear  girl,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "  It  will  end  in  her  marrying  Gerard,  I  fancy.  The  book- 
writers  may  say  what  they  like,  but  the  woman  who  can,  always 
marries  for  love." 

A  few  minutes  later  her  husband  came  in.  "  My  dear,"  he 
said,  "  some  of  my  papers  are  missing.  I  wish  you  would  tell 
Mary  to  mind  what  she's  about." 


70  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  she  replied,  without  looking  up.  Some  of 
his  papers  were  always  missing.  He  always  grumbled.  It  had 
come  with  his  appointment  to  the  high  government  post.  For 
the  first  month  or  two  she  had  fretted ;  then  she  had  under- 
stood that  it  was  part  of  his  new  importance,  and  she  had  re- 
turned to  her  old  comfortable  life.  "Both  the  Helmonts  are 
coming  to  lunch,"  she  said,  "  and  one  or  two  other  people." 

"  I  don't  care  who's  coming  to  lunch.  I  wish  you  minded 
more  about  my  papers.     They're  of  very  particular  moment." 

"  I  do  mind.  I  shall  tell  some  one  to  find  them  at  once  on 
your  table,  for  I've  no  doubt  that  they're  there.  Mademoiselle" 
— ^this  in  French  to  a  swarthy  little  lady  who  came  gliding  in — 
"  would  you  mind  looking  for  some  papers  Monsieur  has  left  on 
his  table — official  papers — a  dirty  yellow,  you  know." 

"  But  how  on  earth  " —  began  the  state  functionary. 

"  Oh,  she'll  find  them.  She  knows  what  your  papers  are  like. 
How  do  you  do.  Georgette?     Where  is  Willie  ?" 

"  On  the  stairs,  I  believe,"  replied  the  young  lady  thus  ad- 
dressed, "  flirting  with  the  Freule  van  Weylert." 

"  We  should  all  have  said  '  of  course,'  Freule,"  declared  Ge- 
rard's voice  behind  her,  "  had  you  omitted  the  name  of  the  lady. 
Even  Willie  could  not  teach  the  Freule  van  Weylert  to  flirt." 

Otto  was  bowing  silently  beside  his  brother,  with  a  specially 
deep  bow  for  Mademoiselle  Papotier,  Helena's  quondam  gov- 
erness, who  had  returned,  bearing  the  lost  papers,  to  be  wel- 
comed by  their  owner  with  a  grunt.  As  a  rule,  nobody  but 
Helena  took  any  notice  of  Mademoiselle  Papotier. 

They  all  went  in  to  luncheon,  a  medley  of  exceptionally  noisy 
and  exceptionally  silent  elements.  The  old  Baron  took  his  seat 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  immediately  fixed  his  keen  eyes  on 
his  food.  Opposite  him  sat  the  French  lady,  coquettish  in 
movements  and  apparel,  pouring  out  coffee,  of  which  no  one 
partook.  The  mistress  of  the  house  strove  vainly  to  converse 
with  her  niece  Van  Weylert,  an  angular  and  awkward  young 
girl,  or  to  draw  out  her  other  neighbor.  Otto,  who  sat  with  his 
attention  glumly  concentrated  on  the  fair  object  of  his  visit. 
The  rest  of  the  company  were  uproariously  merry,  led  on  by 
Gerard  and  his  pink  brother-officer,  young  Willie  van  Troyen. 


otto's  wooing  71 

Otto  was  wondering  whatever  had  induced  him  to  come. 
Yet,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  knew  very  well.  It  was  not 
so  much  his  mother's  affectionate  expostulation  as  the  thought, 
ever  present  within  him,  never  expressed  :  What  will  become 
of  the  Horst  when  my  father  dies?  What,  indeed?  He  had 
never  loved  the  old  home  as  he  loved  it  since  his  return. 

"  You  are  coming  to  my  dance  to-morrow,  I  hope,  Mynheer 
van  Helmont?"  said  his  hostess.  He  awoke  as  from  a  reverie. 
"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  ''  I  hope  so.  I  intend  to  stay  at  Drum  for 
a  day  or  two."  He  was  still  watching  his  cousin ;  the  Baroness 
followed  his  gaze,  and  then  their  eyes  met. 

A  shout  of  laughter  went  up  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table.     The  old  Baron  lifted  his  brows. 

"  In  my  time,"  he  said  to  the  shaking  mass  of  pink  muslin 
beside  him,  "  we  weren't  half  as  funny  as  you  young  people 
seem  to  be." 

"  Weren't  you  ?"  retorted  Georgette  van  Troyen.  *'  How  slow 
you  must  have  been  !  Too  bad,  not  even  to  have  had  a  good 
time  in  your  youth  !  But  isn't  this  too  amusing,  this  story  that 
Willie  is  telling?" 

The  Baron  returned  hastily  to  his  omelet. 

"  Isn't  it  too  amusing  ?"  cried  the  young  girl,  appealing  to 
Otto. 

"  I  haven't  heard  it,"  said  the  latter ;  at  which  they  all  roared 
again.  Willie  was  in  high  spirits,  though  Gerard  was  endeav- 
oring to  arrest  his  narration. 

"  Do  shut  up,  Troy  ;  we've  had  quite  enough  of  it,"  growled 
Gerard. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  am  mistress  here  !"  cried  Helena,  her  eyes 
sparkling  with  merriment.  *'  Go  on.  Mynheer  van  Troyen ; 
you  and  the  Captain  had  agreed  ^on  the  wager.  And  you  an- 
swered the  advertisements ;  and  what  happened  then  ?  The 
advertisements,"  she  called  across  to  Otto  in  explanation,  "  were 
from  young  ladies  in  search  of  a  husband." 

"  From  ladies,"  corrected  the  little  officer,  who  looked  like  a 
bibulous  cherub.  "  Well,  we  got  replies  to  our  letters,  and  we 
wrote  again,  arranging  a  meeting.  We  convened  all  the  aspir- 
ants— there  were  four  of  them — at  the  same  spot,  and,  of  course, 


72  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

the  same  hour,  and  we  bade  them  dress  up  in  red  shawls  and 
white  feathers.  And  when  we  drove  past,  taking. Gerard  and 
another  man  as  umpires,  there  they  were,  the  whole  four  of 
them  ;  I  think  there  were  even  more  1" 

Renewed  shrieks  of  laughter  greeted  the  final  sally. 

"  It's  too  killing !"  cried  Helena,  the  tears  on  her  cheeks. 
"  And  what  were  they  doing  ?  Tearing  each  other's  eyes 
out?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  didn't  wait  to  see.  They  were  making  a 
great  noise,  screaming  at  each  other.  I  had  won  ray  cham- 
pagne, and  I  went  and  drank  it.  I  always  knew  these  adver- 
tisements were  perfectly  genuine." 

*'  But  the  letters,"  interposed  Georgette.  "  You  must  show 
Helena  the  letters,  Willie." 

"  No,  no,  he  mustn't,"  cried  Gerard,  energetically.  "  I'm  sick 
of  the  whole  business.     Do  let's  talk  of  something  else." 

"  But  I'm  not,"  protested  Helena.  "  It's  new  to  me.  How 
selfish  you  are,  Gerard.  Don't  you  think  it's  awfully  amusing. 
Otto  ?     I'm  sure  you  want  to  hear  more." 

"  I  only  want  to  hear  one  thing,"  said  Otto,  gravely,  bending 
forward,  "  and  that  is  what  Mynheer  van  Troyen  is  going  to  do 
with  those  letters  ?" 

"  Why,  keep  them,  of  course,"  replied  Willie. 

"  It  is  no  business  of  mine.  Mynheer ;  I  have  not  the  honor, 
like  my  brother,  of  being  your  friend.  But  if  I  were  umpire,  I 
should  insist  on  those  letters  being  given  np  and  burned." 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  approve  of  the  whole  joke  ?"  cried  Ge- 
rard, hotly,  forcing  back  his  own  better  misgivings,  swift  in  de- 
fence of  his  chum." 

"  It  is  not  my  province  to  express  an  opinion.  Certainly  not 
here.     It  is  not  a  thing  I  should  have  done  myself." 

"  And  the  girls  who  advertised  ?"  continued  Gerard.  "  We 
only  answered  advertisements.     What  of  them  ?" 

"  Poor  things  !"  said  Otto,  softly. 

"  What  nonsense  !"  exclaimed  Helena.  "  I  think  it's  great 
fun  ;  and  for  the  girls,  too.  I  should  like  to  try  the  plan. 
Some  day  we  must  do  it.  Georgette.  It's  a  capital  way  of 
getting  a  husband.     What  freedom  it  leaves  in  the  choice !" 


OTTO  S    WOOING 


73 


"Surely  you  are  not  restricted,  Freule,"  said  Willie.  "You 
have  but  to  fling  your  handkerchief  wheresoever  you  will." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  restricted,"  she  replied ;  "  for  instance,  I 
could  never  marry  you." 

"  Alas,  I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  answered ;  "  but  why  not  ?" 

"  Imagine  what  a  combination !  Helen  of  Troy  !*  Who 
could  live  up  to  such  an  appellation  ?" 

"  You  could,"  he  replied,  fatuously.  But  she  was  not  listen- 
ing to  him ;  she  was  looking  across  the  table  at  Otto.  "  What 
a  reputation  !"  she  said.  "  Who  could  live  up  to  it?  But  why 
was  she  called  Helene  de  Trois  ?  There  was  Menelaus  " — she 
counted  on  her  fingers — "  and  Paris.  But  I  forget  who  the 
third  lover  was." 

That  evening  Otto  appeared  again  in  the  drawing-room  at  the 
Manor-house.  His  mother  gave  a  cry  of  surprise.  For  a  mo- 
ment her  heart  stood  still. 

"  I  don't  care  for  Helena  Trossart,"  said  Otto.  "  Her  con- 
versation is  a  perpetual  dance  on  the  tight-rope  of  propriety." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  replied  his  father,  "  how  natural !  Consider 
the  continuous  pleasure  of  keeping  your  balance." 

"  Well,"  said  Otto,  "  it  seems  to  me  she  came  some  very 
positive  croppers.     However,  I'm  no  judge." 

He  left  the  room  ;  his  mother  ran  after  him. 

"  You  haven't  asked  her.  Otto  ?"  she  gasped.  "  She  hasn't 
rejected  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  he  said,  and  shut  the  door. 


*  Literally,  in  the  Dutch. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN    INDELIBLE     STAIN 

The  next  day  dawned  for  Ursula  in  unclouded  brightness. 
Those  few  of  us  who  remember  a  youth  no  longer  ours  will 
forgive  her  the  excess  of  an  expectancy  she  was  unable  to  curb 
by  experience.  She  was  going  to  an  entertainment  at  one  of 
the  great  houses  of  Drum.  She  had  never  been  to  anything 
so  magnificent  before.  And  Gerard,  whom  she  had  known  all 
her  life,  was  to  be  there  to  make  things  smooth  for  her.  A 
slight  difficulty  about  a  chaperon  had  been  most  pleasantly  re- 
moved. The  Freule  van  Trossart  had  on  the  preceding  after- 
noon left  a  card  for  Juffrouw  Rovers,  with  a  note  saying  that 
if  she  cared  to  come  and  dine  before  the  party,  she  could  be 
present  at  it  afterwards  as  a  house  guest,  under  the  Baroness's 
wing.  Ursula  had  accepted  gladly,  by  no  means  impervious 
to  so  much  condescension,  and,  altogether,  she  felt  very  well 
satisfied  indeed.  The  night  before  she  had  written  a  glorious 
letter  to  her  father;  she  had  said  nothing  of  her  aunt's  ill 
health. 

At  9  A.M.  there  was  tranquil  jubilation,  at  10  a.m.  there  was 
sudden  dismay.  **  I  can't  wear  it  like  this,"  Ursula  was  saying 
to  Harriet,  with  whom  she  had  come  to  terms  on  a  basis  of 
mutual  oblivion.  She  sat  on  the  floor,  a  brown  heap  of  per- 
plexity. Her  simple  evening  dress  lay  on  the  bed,  with  a 
round  stain,  as  of  grease,  distressingly  displayed  upon  its 
breast.  It  was  a  frock  of  crushed-strawberry  crepon,  with  ripe- 
strawberry  silk  ribbons. 

"  No,  you  can't,"  asserted  Harriet,  full  of  interest  and  sym- 
pathy. Harriet  was  in  her  element.  "  You  must  manage  to 
get  some  more  of  that  crimson  lace  for  the  front.     How  can 


AN    INDELIBLE    STAIN 


75 


it  have  happened,  Ursula  ?  Something  must  have  oozed  out  in 
your  trunk." 

"  But  colored  lace  is  so  difficult  to  match,"  wailed  Ursula. 

"  So  it  is.  Never  mind.  We  must  try."  And  the  two  girls 
sallied  forth  on  that  most  hopeless  of  errands,  the  only  form 
of  shopping  no  woman  enjoys,  "  the  matching  "  of  colors.  In 
every  shop  they  entered  their  little  scrap  was  held  up  against 
an  incongruous  variety  of  tints,  and  they  were  informed  by  the 
assistant  that  it  was  "  exactly  the  shade."  One  especially  truth- 
ful person  qualified  her  recommendation  of  a  moderate  scarlet 
by  the  statement  that  *'  really  it  was  as  near  as  you  could  get." 
But  all,  without  exception,  were  pertly  offended  when  the  girls 
crept  hopelessly,  though  resolutely,  away. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  Harriet  at  last,  as  they  retraced  their 
steps.  But  even  while  she  spoke  a  sudden  inspiration  struck 
her.  "Do  you  know  what  you'll  have  to  do,  Ursula?  It's 
V-shaped  now ;  well,  you'll  have  to  make  it  into  a  low-neck." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  like  that,"  cried  the  pastor's  daughter,  red- 
dening. 

'*  There's  no  choice  left  to  you.  How  stupid  of  me  not  to 
think  of  it  before.     It  '11  look  much  nicer,  too." 

"But  supposing  we  matched  the  ribbons?"  suggested  Ursula, 
holding  out. 

"  You  never  could  in  this  primitive  place.  They're  a  very 
peculiar  color.  Besides,  if  you  covered  up  all  that  space  with 
ribbon,  you'd  look  like  a  prize  cow.  No,  the  top  '11  have  to  come 
off,  and  we  must  see  about  a  dress-maker  at  once.  There's  no 
time  to  lose." 

They  turned  down  a  by-street. 

"  Let  us  cross  to  the  square,"  said  Harriet.  "  It's  no  use 
taking  the  little  woman  that  works  for  me ;  we  must  get  the 
best  help  we  can." 

A  few  moments  later  they  entered — not  without  a  feeling  of 
awe,  especially  on  Harriet's  part — the  largest  establishment  of 
its  kind  in  Drum. 

"  Call  Miss  Adeline,"  said  the  smart  personage  who  had 
listened  to  their  piteous  tale.  "  We  don't  usually  alter  garments 
not  made  by  ourselves.     Still — " 


76  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

'Both,  of  the  girls  gave  a  sudden  gasp,  for  in  the  person  of 
Miss  Adeline,  who  came  forward  at  this  moment  from  far-back 
recesses,  both  simultaneously  recognized  the  fair  little  maiden 
of  the  tryst. 

"  Mynheer  Mopius,  Villa  Blanda,"  said  the  black-silk  man- 
ager. "  Very  well.  Perhaps  Miss  Adeline  had  better  accom- 
pany you  at  once.     There  certainly  is  no  time  to  be  lost." 

With  feelings  utterly  indescribable  the  three  walked  off  to- 
gether. 

A  few  moments  later,  Harriet  having  fled,  Ursula  sat  helping 
the  dress-maker  in  the  oppressive  silence  of  the  "second  best 
spare  room."  The  click  of  the  scissors  was  becoming  in- 
supportable. Even  the  occasional  rustle  of  the  pendent  frock 
seemed  a  relief. 

"  I  think  we  have  met  before,"  said  Ursula,  at  last,  very  gently. 

"  Really,  Juffrouw  ?  A  great  many  ladies  come  to  our  place," 
replied  the  girl,  bending  over  her  work. 

For  a  moment  Ursula  felt  nonplussed,  but  her  pity  rose 
paramount. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  said,  rather  sternly.  And 
then  she  went  on  to  talk  about  the  folly  and  wickedness  of 
female  initiative  in  matters  matrimonial,  and  her  little  lecture 
broadened  into  its  third  well-rounded  sentence — 

''  And  you,"  burst  in  the  girl,  fiercely,  "  a  rich  young  lady  in 
a  fine  house,  well  looked  after.     You  !" 

So  Ursula  had  to  incriminate  her  absent  friend,  lest  her  mor- 
al go  awry.  She  found  a  politely  incredulous  listener,  and 
began  to  realize  that,  with  her,  it  was  a  case  of  "  caught  together, 
hung  together,"  as  the  Germans  say.  If  only  Gerard  had  not 
observed  her ! 

"I  can  assure  you,"  she  said,  continuing  her  homily,  though 
rather  disconcerted  by  the  sudden  change  of  front,  "that  I 
should  never  lift  a  finger  to  get  married  for  the  sake  of  being 
married.  Every  woman  may  rejoice  if  God  sends  her  an  hon- 
est lover  and  enables  her  to  love  that  lover.  But  merely  to  be 
able  to  say  '  I  am  somebody's  wife  !'  I  cannot  understand 
any  woman  wanting  that" — this  under  the  stress  of  her  own 
inculpation — "  I  cannot  understand  what  for." 


AN    INDELIBLE     STAIN 


77 


She  opened  her  big  dark  eyes,  and  looked  innocently  inter- 
rogative. 

"  Can't  yon,  Jiiffrouw  ?"  said  the  kneeling  dress-maker,  taking 
the  pins  from  between  her  lips.  "  Well,  I  can.  There's  reasons 
would  make  a  girl  willing  to  be  any  man's  wife  as  long  as  she 
was  only  married.  And  one  of  them's  mine."  She  spoke  bit- 
terly, and  shut  her  lips  with  a  snap,  as  she  rose  from  fitting  on 
the  frock. 

Suddenly  Ursula  understood. 

She  was  not  given  to  emotion,  still  less  to  showing  it ;  per- 
haps her  nerves  had  been  wrought  on  by  the  previous  strain ; 
now,  quite  unexpectedly  to  herself,  she  burst  into  tears. 

The  girl  quivered,  stared,  and,  sinking  on  to  a  cane-bottomed 
chair,  began  crying  too,  but  in  a  soft,  self-pitying  way,  while 
speaking  all  the  time. 

"  You  think  me  a  bad,  wicked  creature,"  she  sobbed,  "  but 
I'm  not,  I'm  not.  I  didn't  know,  and  he  promised  to  marry  me. 
There  was  never  any  doubt  of  his  marrying  me.  I'm  not  as 
bad  as  you  think,  and  I  was  certain  he  loved  me.  And  I  was 
desperate,  and  I  put  in  the  advertisement.  I  wish  I  were 
married  or  dead."  She  stopped  crying  for  a  moment.  "  When 
the  time  comes,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  I  shall  be  one  or  the 
other."     And  then  she  fell  to  sobbing  afresh. 

Ursula  had  dried  her  eyes. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  if  he  promised  to  marry  you,  per- 
haps he  will." 

'*  Oh  no,  he  won't.  I  know  now,  and  understand  things 
different.     He's  a  gentleman.     He'd  marry  me  if  he  was  not." 

"  For  I'm  sure  he  loved  me,"  she  added,  softly. 

Ursula  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  Shielded  and  shel- 
tered through  all  her  simple  girlhood,  she  had  never  come  into 
contact,  whether  by  actual  experience  or  in  literature,  with 
any  such  vision  of  shame  as  this.  She  compared  her  own  hap- 
py, unshadowed  life  with  the  struggle  of  the  girl  before  her. 
And,  full  of  compassion,  she  thanked  God  for  the  difference. 
For,  to  the  very  backbone  which  held  her  erect,  she  was  woman- 
ly and  pure. 

She  had  forgotten  all  about  the  pressing  needs  of  her  toilet, 


78  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

but  the  dress-maker  had  not.  Adeline  caught  up  the  frock,  and 
began  silently,  sullenly  sewing. 

"  If  I  could  but  do  anything  for  you,"  said  Ursula,  medita- 
tively. 

"  You  can't.  Only  don't  gibe  at  me.  Gibe  at  the  men  of 
your  own  class.  This  one,  they  tell  me,  is  going  to  be  married. 
I  dare  say  you'd  marry  him  if  you  could." 

"  Never  !  never  !"  said  Ursula,  with  quiet  passion. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  whom  he  marries.  It  won't  be  me.  I'll 
tell  you  how  I  know  for  certain.  You  seem  to  be  good,  you  do, 
and  you  mean  well.  It's  not  rne  alone  he's  ruined.  Do  you 
know" — she  laid  down  her  work  on  her  lap — "  I  believe  it  was 
he  who  brouo^ht  us  all  tos^ether  the  other  nicrht.  I  believe  he  is 
Romeo  de  Lieven." 

"But  why?"  asked  Ursula,  incredulously.  "Certainly,  the 
young  lady  down-stairs — " 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me,  Juffrouw.  We  all  deny.  Women  al- 
ways do.  But  you  remember  a  'carriage  passing  along  the 
road  ?  There  were  officers  in  it.  It  flashed  across  me  at  once 
that  they  had  come  to  see  their  handiwork.  And  he  was  driv- 
ing." 

The  room  swam  round  before  Ursula's  eyes.  She  closed 
them  hastily,  and  leaned  back  in  her  easy-chair.  She  could  think 
of  nothing  distinctly ;  but  she  could  hear  the  clock  ticking 
solemnly  on.  She  longed  for  some  one  to  stop  it.  As  for  her- 
self, she  knew  that  she  was  incapable  of  moving,  body  or 
soul.  In  a  lightning  flash  she  had  realized  two  facts  undreamed 
before  —  the  first,  that  she  was  very  fond  of  Gerard  van  Hel- 
mont ;  the  second,  that  she  scorned  him  forth  from  her  heart 
forever. 

When  at  last  she  opened  her  eyes  she  saw  the  other  girl  in- 
tently watching  her.  There  was  a  quiet  sneer  in  the  dress- 
maker's gaze  before  which  Ursula  shrank  affrighted.  She 
understood  immediately  how  her  elaborate  self-exoneration  had 
crumbled  away.  This  creature  had  perceived  that  Gerard  was 
personally  known  to  her.  In  the  wretched  girl's  estimation  she 
was  doubtless  one  rival  out  of  many.     She  shuddered. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mademoiselle  Adeline,  "  we  all  deny.     I  think, 


AN    INDELIBLE    STAIN  79 

Miss,  if  you  left  me  to  myself,  I  could  finish  this  dress  a  great 
deal  better." 

Ursula  dragged  herself  together  and  crept  from  the  room. 

While  this  uncomfortable  interview  was  in  progress,  the  chief 
subject  of  its  interest  was  complacently  installed  among  the 
thousand  elegances  of  his  cousin's  sitting-room,  on  a  low  stool 
almost  at  her  feet.  He  looked  a  little  more  extensively  red 
than  usual,  and  his  blue  eyes  were  restless  ;  but  otherwise  he 
showed  no  signs  of  trepidation.  Yet  he  had  resolved  that  this 
day  should  decide  his  fate.  His  mother's  by-play  about  Otto 
was  becoming  a  nuisance. 

That  morning  he  had  risen,  after  tranquil  sleep,  and  carelessly 
studied  himself  in  the  glass.  Of  course,  he  was  good-looking — 
very  good-looking.  Experience  had  taught  him  that  quite  as 
much  as  ocular  demonstration.  It  was  the  perfect  grace  of  his 
gracelessness  which  made  women  adore  him. 

He  had  eaten  a  hearty  breakfast  as  usual,  but  he  had  drunk 
two  more  cups  of  tea  and  a  glass  of  brandy.  That  is  a  man's 
way  of  realizing  that  the  crisis  has  come. 

"  My  dear  Gerard,"  said  Helena,  "  you  are  dull,  while  the  rest 
of  the  family  are  flurried.  People  talk  about  the  day  after  the 
festival;  my  'Katzen jammers'  come  ten  hours  before.  I  shall 
ring  for  Mademoiselle  Papotier ;  she  always  amuses  me." 

*'Do,"  said  Gerard,  surlily,  glad  of  any  postponement. 

"That  is  charming.  You  could  not  have  said  that  'do'  more 
naturally  had  we  been  husband  and  wife.  "Do  I  bore  you? 
Then  amuse  yourself  elsewhere.  But  don't  even  expect  me  to 
ring  the  bell."  She  jumped  up  lightly  as  she  spoke  and  ran 
past  him  to  the  bell-pull. 

"  I  don't  like  Mademoiselle  Papotier,"  said  Gerard.  "  She 
has  taught  you  a  number  of  things  you  needn't  have  known. 
If  you  read  books  like  that " —  he  pointed  to  line  Vie  upon 
the  table — "  it's  her  doing.  I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Helena.  Men 
don't  like  it." 

She  came  back  to  her  seat :  "  Oh,  but  that  is  still  more  charm- 
ing," she  said,  "  especially  from  your  lips.  You  would  have 
me  restrict  my  reading  so  that  I  might  the  better  enjoy  your 


80  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

conversation.  I  won't  hear  a  word  against  my  dear  Papotier. 
She  brightened  my  youth  with  eighteenth-century  romances, 
and  she  cheers  my  old  age  by  nineteenth-century  novels.  She 
is  a  dear." 

Undeniably,  the  heiress's  education  had  been  a  peculiar  one. 
Her  governess's  tissue-paper  rosette  of  a  soul  had  never  given 
forth  more  natural  odors  than  patchouly.  The  Baroness  van 
Trossart  could  have  told  you  how,  when  Helena  was  an  eight- 
year-old  little  girl,  she  had  come  upon  the  child  slapping  her 
ball  up  and  down  in  the  court-yard,  and  occasionally  muttering 
the  same  words  over  and  over  again. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  saying,  my  dear  ?"  the  Baroness 
had  inquired. 

And  Helena  had  looked  up  with  sparkling  eyes :  ''  And  his 
beautiful  head,"  she  had  spouted,  without  stopping  her  ball- 
bumping,  "  went  bounding  three  times  across  the  marble,  while 
repeating  three  times  the  sweet  name  of  '  Zaire ' !  Isn't  it  lovely  ? 
He  was  dead,  you  know  ;  they  had  just  cut  it  off."  And  she 
had  run  away. 

The  Baroness  had  shaken  her  head.  "  It  sounds  like  Scudery," 
she  had  said.  But  she  was  comfortable.  She  was  not  going 
to  object  to  Mademoiselle  Papotier. 

"  I  shall  read  what  I  like,"  repeated  the  heiress,  provokingly. 
"And  when  I  am  married,  I  shall  go  to  what  plays  I  choose. 
I  like  impropriety  on  paper.  Paper  or  boards.  And  so  do 
you,  Gerard,  et  plus  que  9a.  You,  of  all  people  !  I  believe  you 
are  laughing  at  me." 

"  No,  by  thunder,  I'm  not,"  he  cried,  violently.  ''  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  a  saint — far  from  it;  but  there's  not  a  lover  in 
the  world  would  like  to  remember  that  the  girl  he's  engaged  to 
has  read  Maupassant." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  that  sweet  mixture  of 
mocking  tenderness  which  a  man's  eyes  can  never  assume  ;  then 
she  said  to  her  maid,  who  had  answered  the  bell, 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  I  want  nothing.     I  rang  by  mistake." 

"  But  you  are  not" —  she  began,  and  checked  herself.  "  So 
Otto  is  coming  to  my  party  to-night,"  she  said. 

She  enjoyed  his  responsive  scowl. 


AN    INDELIBLE    STAIN  81 

"  No,  Otto  is  not  coming,"  he  answered.  "  His  Highness 
has  gone  off  in  a  huff.  About  that  hoax  of  WilUe's,  I  imagine, 
but  his  huffs  are  not  easy  to  classify.  Mind  you,  I  don't  defend 
the  trick.     I  think  it  was  rather  a  low  thing  to  do." 

"  To  Van  Troyen  it  merely  represented  so  much  champagne," 
she  replied.  "  I  like  Otto ;  he  is  eminently  estimable  and — 
and  worthy.  He,  at  least,  would  never  have  told  me  not  to  read 
Maupassant." 

"  No,"  sneered  Gerard,  "  he  would  never  have  heard  of  him." 

"  Just  so.  There  is  nothing  more  delightful  than  a  husband 
who  is  absolutely  ignorant  of  everything.  With  him,  at  least, 
one  runs  a  chance,  even  in  this  age,  of  unreasoning  jealousy. 
And  unreasoning  jealousy  must  be  delightful.  Like  mustard. 
What  is  the  use  of  a  man  who  keeps  saying,  '  The  vices  are 
my  share ;  the  virtues  are  yours.  And  each  of  us  has  got  what 
he  ought  to  have '  ?  Gerard,  rather  than  a  husband  who  said  to 
me,  '  Of  course,  I  am  faithless ;  let  us  talk  of  something  else,' 
I  would  have  a  husband  who  said,  '  You  are  faithless.  I  am 
going  to  kill  you,'  and  did  it." 

*'lt  could  only  be  done  once,"  replied  Gerard,  languidly. 
"  My  dear  child,  you  have  been  to  Verdi's  '  Othello.'  Evidently 
you  want  to  be  worshipped  not  wisely  but  too  well.  I  don't 
think  Otto  would  tell  you  that  you  are  faithless.  I  fancy  you'd 
have  to  jog  him  a  bit." 

"  Otto  !  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Otto.  I  believe  you  are  jeal- 
ous of  Otto." 

"  Yes,  I  am.  I'll  tell  you  why,  if  you  like,  immediately.  I 
have  a  note  here  from  my  mother,  received  this  morning;  shall 
I  read  it  to  you  ?" 

"  If  it  concerns  me,"  she  said,  negligently. 

"  It  concerns  you  very  nearly.  My  mother  tells  me  to  ask 
whether  you  would  care  to  come  down  to  the  house  with  me 
to-morrow,  and  stay  for  a  few  days.  You  understand  what  that 
means,  Helen,  as  well  as  I  do  !" 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  she  answered,  and  with  a  sudden  im- 
pulse she  caught  up  the  "  Maupassant "  at  her  elbow  and  flung 
it  into  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"So  that,  knowing  the  comedy  you  are  expected  to  take  part 


82  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

in,  you  can  foresee  and  forego  the  conclusion.  I  should  say, 
if  it  is  to  be  only  farce,  why  act  it  at  all  ?" 

She  popped  out  the  tips  of  her  little  feet  and  looked  down 
at  them. 

"  The  best  way  to  avoid  all  complications,"  he  went  on, 
"would  be  to  arrive  at  the  Manor-house — enofaofed." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  ground  and  fixed  them  steadily 
on  his  face. 

"  Let  me  telegraph  to  my  mother  that  you  are  coming  en- 
gaged."    llis  voice  broke  down. 

"  But  how  will  you  know?"  she  asked,  laughing. 

"  Let  me  know  first.''''  He  bent  forward.  "  Oh,  my  darling, 
my  beauty."  He  caught  her  two  hands,  and,  like  the  passion- 
ate young  fool  he  was,  covered  them  with  kisses.  "  My  darling, 
how  happy  they  will  all  be  at  home." 

Even  at  that  moment  the  naive  selfishness  of  this  last  excla- 
mation amused  her.  She  said  nothing,  however,  prolonging 
the  sweetest  silence  a  woman  ever  knows. 

"Gerard,  she  said,  some  minutes  later,  looking  up  at  him  as 
he  bent  over  her.  "  You  have  forgotten  that  the  girl  you  are 
engaged  to  has  read  Maupassant." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  have  forgotten.  I  shall  never  re- 
member." 

He  went  back  to  his  rooms  to  dress  for  dinner,  highly  de- 
lighted. He  was  very  much  attached  to  his  cousin.  And  she 
was  the  greatest  heiress  in  the  province. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS 

Ursula  descended  from  a  cab  in  the  full  light  of  the  early 
summer  evening,  and  hurried  away  into  the  Van  Trossarts* 
gloomy  hall.  Her  shoulders  blushed  as  the  footman  took  her 
wrap.     It  felt  like  undressing. 

"  Juffrouw  Rovers,"  said  the  Baroness,  beaming  like  a  crim- 
son sun,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  My  niece  is — is  occupied. 
Take  off  your  gloves,  my  dear,  and  help  me  to  arrange  these 
flowers." 

Ursula  had  looked  round  in  terror  for  Gerard.  She  must 
dine  with  him  en  famille,  perhaps  sit  next  to  him.  There  was 
no  help  for  it.  Yet  she  trembled  to  think  of  him.  To  her 
simple  maidenhood,  familiar  with  sermons  on  sin  in  the  abstract, 
he  was  a  sudden  incarnation  of  infamy. 

The  Baroness  buzzed  and  bubbled  over  her  flower-trays,  her 
fat  arms  all  dimples,  her  fat  cheeks  all  smiles.  She  chattered 
about  this  evening's  party,  which  was  Helena's  party — "  as  if 
anybody  in  Drum  would  give  a  dance  in  July  ! — but  Helena  was 
so  gay  she  could  never  sit  still  for  an  hour:  a  nice  dance  she 
would  lead  her  husband  if  only  the  husband  himself  was  ad- 
dicted to  pleasure.  Well,  old  people  were  apt  to  get  dull.  No 
wonder  Helena  fared  farther  in  search  of  diversion."  And  she 
laughed  to  herself,  and  winked  to  herself  (a  difl[icult,  but  by  no 
means  impossible,  proceeding)  while  talking  to  Ursula  in  the 
pragmatical  cackle  with  which  hens  of  all  ages  surround  a  new- 
laid  matrimonial  egg. 

Ursula,  who  was  barely  acquainted  with  the  Freule  van  Tros- 
sart,  could  only  display  a  perfunctory  interest  in  that  young 
lady's  possible  prospects.     Harriet  had  told  her  that,  according 


84  MY     LADY    NOBODY 

to  rumor,  the  Freule  was  "as  good  as  engaged"  to  a  young 
politician. 

"  It  is  a  living  romance,"  the  P>eule's  clear  voice  was  heard 
saying  on  the  landing,  "  and  a  thousand  times  more  amusing, 
ma  vieille,  than  all  your  dressed-up  dead  ones  together." 

She  came  into  the  room  with  her  arm  through  that  of  her 
shrivelled  governess,  Gerard  bringing  up  the  rear.  The  little 
Frenchwoman  looked  depressed  as  she  slid  away  into  a  corner. 
The  fat  Baroness  rustled  across  to  her  in  a  perfect  crackle  of 
crimson.  "  My  dear  Papotier,  is  it  not  delightful  ?"  she  said, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  madame,  yes,"  replied  the  governess,  "  it  is  the 
first  chapter."  And,  to  herself,  she  added,  "  For  me  it  is  the 
last." 

Ursula  shook  hands  with  Gerard,  but  a  thick  curtain  had 
fallen  between  them ;  she  was  surprised  by  the  aloofness  of  his 
manner,  even  while  she  herself  stiffened  to  a  cold  "  good-day." 

How  contented  and  complacent  he  looked  !  She  watched 
him  as  he  sat  opposite  her  at  table,  between  the  Baroness  and 
the  Freule.  How  prosperous  and  pleasing !  Yes,  truly,  there 
was  a  law  for  the  humble  and  a  license  for  the  high  !  It  was  a 
gloriously  simple  thing  to  be  born  to  impurity,  like  the  old  Greek 
gods.  What  nonsense  her  good  father  went  preaching  about 
"  sin  "  !  The  world  knew  no  such  thing.  It  knew  only  a  small 
hub  of  pleasure  reserved  for  the  rich,  and  a  wide  zone  all  round 
it  of  hunger  and  crime.  She  felt  very  bitter ;  she  glanced  down 
with  a  sensation  of  physical  disgust  on  the  fingers  which  had 
touched  his,  unwilling  to  break  her  bread  with  them. 

Her  French  was  rusty,  and  out  of  repair ;  she  did  not  feel  up 
to  much  conversation  with  the  prim  little  portrait  of  the  past 
on  her  right ;  the  master  of  the  house,  on  her  other  side,  was 
sufficiently,  but  not  amply,  polite.  There  is  no  human  insolence 
such  as  that  indifferent  politeness  which  barely  fits — like  a  glove 
one  size  too  small. 

There  were  only  the  six  of  them ;  but  the  fascinating  little 
heiress  was  a  host  in  herself.  Ursula  had  heard  much  of  her 
vivacity  ;  she  concluded,  notwithstanding,  that  the  prospect  of 
the   evening's  pleasure    must   be   abnormally   augmenting   it. 


ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS  85 

Lovely  the  girl  undeniably  was,  frail,  and  golden-haired,  in  a 
cloud  of  white  over  blue,  like  the  sky,  and  a  treble  row  of  pearls. 
Ursula's  grave  brown  face  looked  very  quiet  compared  with  the 
other's  delicate,  clear-veined  features  ;  you  might  have  said  a 
Madonna  of  the  Annunciation,  and  an  immature  Venus  Ana- 
dyomene. 

*'  Ursula,"  thought  Gerard,  "  is  just  a  nice-looking  rustic." 
As  for  him,  she  wondered  how  he  dared  to  sit  beside,  and  speak 
to,  this  white-robed  virgin.  It  seemed  as  if  toads  must  drop 
from  his  full  red  lips.  Well,  it  was  no  business  of  hers.  And 
perhaps — perhaps  she  was  wronging  him  all  the  time,  this  good- 
natured  friend  of  her  childhood  !  Perhaps  he  intended  to  mar- 
ry Mademoiselle  Adeline,  if  only  his  parents  would  let  him. 
He  was  waiting,  perhaps,  for  an  opportunity — who  knows  ? — 
perhaps — 

The  thought  gave  her  great  comfort.  Of  the  truth  of  the 
story  she  could  not  harbor  a  doubt,  for  the  girl  before  leav- 
ing had  shown  her  a  photograph,  worn  by  a  ribbon  round 
the  neck. 

She  noticed  that  the  atmosphere  seemed  full  of  a  ripple  of 
merriment:  asides,  which  courtesy  only  kept  just  above  whis- 
pers, innuendos,  sudden  glances,  mots  a  double  entente.  She  felt 
even  more  awkward  than  she  would  have  done  under  ordinary 
circumstances.  And  soon  she  felt  exceedingly  miserable.  Per- 
haps her  kind-hearted  hostess  noticed  it. 

"  Helena,  we  must  drink  to  your  health,"  cried  the  Baroness, 
her  ample  bosom  swelling  under  its  laces,  like  a  crested  wave. 
"  Yes,  my  dear  Gerard,  you  needn't  look  at  me  like  that ;  see 
how  your  neighbor  is  laughing.  As  Juffrouw  Rovers  does  us 
the  favor  of  dining  here  to-day,  she  will  increase  that  favor,  I 
feel  certain,  by  keeping  a  secret — an  absolute  secret  — for  forty- 
eight  hours.  I  cannot  let  this  meal  pass  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. You  must  know,  Juffrouw  Rovers,  that  it  is  my  dear 
niece's  birthday — her  first  birthday  into  a  new  life.  In  other 
words,  she  is  engaged  to  her  cousin  Gerard,  who  is  an  old 
friend  of  yours,  so  I  need  not  praise  him.  And  we  are  going 
to  drink  their  healths,  and  wish  them  long  life  and  prosper- 
ity." 


86  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Afterwards  Ursula  had  a  faint  recollection  of  having  spilled 
some  champagne  on  the  table-cloth.  For  the  moment  her  whole 
strength  was  concentrated  in  a  wild  prayer  for  outward  calm. 
These  people  would  imagine  she  cared  for  Gerard.  It  was  not 
that — my  God,  not  that  ! 

Fortunately  the  others  were  busy  lifting  their  glasses  ;  all 
during  dinner  Gerard  had  scarcely  looked  her  way.  She  stared 
round  the  table  in  a  dazed  manner.     She  felt  sick. 

"  The  strawberries  are  not  good  this  year,"  she  heard  Baron 
Trossart's  grumpy  voice  saying.  *'  I  am  not  surprised  Miss 
Rovers  doesn't  care  to  eat  them."  She  hastily  returned  to  her 
dessert.  "  No,  I  must  beg  of  you.  Joris,  bring  this  lady  a 
clean  plate." 

It  was  the  strawberries,  then,  that  interested  her  ?  So  much 
the  better. 

"  How  I  envy  your  father,  Gerard,"  continued  the  Baron. 
"  It  is  two  years  now  since  we  have  been  at  Trossartshage.  The 
fruit  cannot  bear  the  transport ;  we  have  tried  both  water  and 
rail.  But  the  cares  of  state,  you  know,  the  cares  of  state  !  A 
man  sacrifices  himself  for  his  country,  and  his  country  repays 
him  with  ingratitude." 

This  last  sentence  was  an  allusion  to  a  recent  article  in  a 
small  paper  which  reproached  the  authorities  —  in  this  case 
Baron  Trossart — with  not  having  cleared  out  a  canal  before  the 
warm  weather  came.  Nobody  ever  complained  of  the  ceaseless 
flow  of  nephews  and  brothers-in-law.  That,  as  we  all  know,  is 
a  part  of  the  constitution.  Were  it  not  so,  the  "  eminent  poli- 
tician "  would  be  a  thing  of  the  past. 

"  Papa,"  interrupted  Helena,  wilfully,  "  please  don't  be 
gloomy.     I'm  engaged." 

"  Well,  there's  cause  enough  for  gloom  in  that,"  he  replied. 
"  I'm  as  jealous  of  Gerard  as  " — he  looked  round — "  as  Mad- 
emoiselle Papotier." 

"  Ah  !  do  not  speak  of  it  to  me  !"  cried  the  Frenchwoman. 
"  I  could  slaughter  Monsieur  Gerard  if  I  met  him  in  war." 

"That's  the  last  place  where  you'll  meet  me,"  exclaimed 
Gerard,  laughing.     Helena  had  suddenly  blanched. 

"  War  !"  she  said.     "  How  horrible  !     No,  we  will  have  no 


ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS  87 

fighting.  Juffrouvv  Rovers,  would  you  have  the  courage  to 
marry  a  soldier  ?" 

Across  Ursula's  brain  flashed  a  vision  of  a  dog-cart  filled  with 
uproarious  malevolence. 

"  No,  I  should  not  like  to  marry  an  officer,"  she  replied. 

Her  words — perhaps,  still  more,  her  unconscious  manner — 
seemed  to  sting  Gerard.     He  flushed. 

"  Juffrouvv  Rovers  is  never  particularly  brave,"  he  said.  "  She 
IS  too  soft-hearted.  The  last  time  I  saw  her,  she  was  showing 
the  white  feather,  as  now." 

The  words  were  a  challenge.  And,  unconsciously,  his  man- 
ner betrayed  as  much  ;  it  was  too  significant. 

Helena  looked  from  one  to  the  other  :  "  What  is  it  ?"  she 
asked.  "  What  does  it  mean,  Juffrouw  Rovers?  Gerard,  what 
is  the  joke  ?" 

"  Joke  ?     None.     Ask  Juffrouw  Rovers." 

"  So  I  have,  but  she  doesn't  tell  me." 

"  Then  you  may  be  sure  it  is  a  little  secret  between  Ursula 
and  me,  which  /  shall  keep.  I  am  not  responsible  for  what  she 
may  do." 

She  had  the  good  taste  not  to  press  the  subject,  but  she 
reverted  to  it  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone  with  her  lover. 

"  Gerard,  what  is  this  silly  secret  between  you  and  Miss  Ro- 
vers ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  how  inquisitive  you  are !  I  thought  you 
liked  secrets." 

"  Yes,  when  one  is  in  them.  I  told  you  I  should  be  jeal- 
ous." 

"  Of  Ursula  !     How  ridiculous  !     Utterly  absurd  !     Ursula  !" 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  shall  often  be  absurd.  At  any  rate,  Ge- 
rard, you  would  please  me  by  not  calling  her  *  Ursula.'  She  is 
not  a  relation  of  yours." 

"  But  I  have  known  her  all  my  life.  I  used  to  drag  her  in  a 
go-cart." 

"  I  know.  And  it  seems  to  me  you  behave  very  strangely  for 
people  who  have  always  been  intimate.  You  seem  suddenly 
afraid  of  each  other  since  this  afternoon." 

''  I  am  afraid  of — that  is,  bored  by — every  girl  but  one  since 


88  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

this  afternoon.  I  am  exceedingly  bored  by  the  prospect  before 
me  to-night.    Don't  let's  spoil  the  one  hour  of  happiness  left  us." 

"  The  one  hour !     How  tragic  that  sounds  !"  she  laughed. 

"  To-morrow  we  will  go  down  to  the  Manor  -  house ;  there 
will  be  more  hours  there  in  the  moonlight  on  the  terrace.  Say 
again  that  you  love  me,  Nellie." 

"  Yes,  I  love  you,"  she  replied ;  and  her  voice  was  some  soul- 
voice,  quite  different  from  her  usual  high  -  pitched  tones.  "  I 
have  loved  you  for  a  long  time,"  she  added;  and  then,  sudden- 
ly, with  the  old  every-day  ring :  "  There,  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  tell  you  that  before  our  golden  wedding.  Papotier 
says  a  girl  should  never  tell  it  at  all,  because  the  confession  is 
ill-advised ;  and  mamma  says  she  certainly  shouldn't,  because 
the  feeling,  if  there,  was  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"  Ashamed  of  love  ?     But,  my  dearest  ?" 

"  No,  I  should  never  be  ashamed  of  loving  any  one.  Not 
even  a  footman." 

"  Thank  you,"  sotto  voce,  from  Gerard. 

"  We  must  bear  the  consequences  of  our  virtues.  I  can't  un- 
derstand any  one's  being  ashamed  of  '  love.'     Can  you  ?" 

<'  I  can't  understand  any  man's  keeping  quiet  his  love  for 
you.  I  want  to  shout  out  mine  on  the  house-tops  !  Now  that 
Ursula  knows  —  I  mean  Juffrouw  Rovers  —  why  not  proclaim 
the  engagement  to-night  ?" 

"  And  your  mother  ?" 

So  they  whiled  away  the  time  on  the  veranda,  looking  down 
into  the  garden,  where  a  large  marquee  had  been  put  up  for  the 
dancers,  with  a  music -tent  and  strings  of  Chinese  lanterns. 
Meanwhile  the  Baroness  lay  back  dozing  in  little  audible  gasps, 
and  Ursula  sat  looking  at  photographs  of  Italy  with  Mademoi- 
selle Papotier,  who  had  forgotten  all  the  names. 

"  Yes,  that  is  Pavia,"  said  Mademoiselle  Papotier.  "  Or  per- 
haps it's  Pisa.  I  think  it  must  be  Pisa,  because  of  the  crooked 
tower." 

"  Oh,  that's  only  the  photograph,"  replied  Ursula,  listlessly ; 
"  the  angle's  wrong." 

*'  Do  you  think  so  ?  Look  at  the  turtle-doves  billing  and  coo- 
ing.    Isn't  it  sweet?" 


ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS  89 

Mademoiselle  nodded  towards  the  veranda,  with  keen  scru- 
tiny of  her  companion's  face.  Ursula  blushed  again,  that  terri- 
ble tell-tale  blush. 

"  And  this  place  with  all  the  boats,"  she  said,  *'  I  suppose  is 
Venice  ?" 

The  guests  began  to  arrive,  and  Mevrouw  van  Trossart  pushed 
her  cap  across  from  the  right  to  the  left.  It  was  quite  a  young 
people's  entertainment,  more  or  less  impromptu,  and  Ursula,  al- 
ready so  greatly  distressed  by  her  toilet,  noticed  that  many  of 
the  girls  were  more  simply  dressed  than  she.  The  acuteness  of 
annoyance  about  this  deadened,  for  a  time,  the  sick  anxiety  at 
her  heart. 

She  went  out  into  the  garden ;  she  had  fancied  the  fete  would 
mean  music  and  refreshments  and  fireworks ;  she  now  suddenly 
saw  that  the  marquee  was  prepared  for  dancing.  There  had 
been  no  intimation,  that  she  knew,  on  her  card.  She  had  never 
learned  the  art. 

"  May  I  have  the  first  valse  ?"  asked  Willie  van  Troyen,  who 
had  just  been  introduced,  for  that  purpose,  by  the  Baroness. 

"  I  don't  dance,"  she  said,  pulling  at  her  gloves.  "  I  didn't 
know  people  were  going  to." 

*'  They  often  do,"  said  Willie,  "  don't  they,  at  a  dance  ?"  He 
laughed  heartily ;  he  thought  that  was  rather  witty.  And  he 
betook  himself  to  some  one  else. 

So  Ursula  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  tent,  or  out  on  a  bench,  and 
was  a  bore. 

The  Baroness  *'  made  "  talk  with  her  from  time  to  time  in 
laborious  sentences,  and  one  or  two  other  elderly  people  tried 
the  same  experiment.  All  the  time,  as  she  sat  there  disconso- 
late, one  question  was  burning  at  her  brain :  How  must  I  act 
regarding  Gerard  ?  Must  I  save  this  innocent  girl  or  must  I  not  ? 
Sometimes  the  girl  was  Adeline,  more  often  Helena,  but  the  ques- 
tion remained  the  same. 

"  And  this  is  your  first  party  ?"  said  a  good-natured  man.  "  I 
don't  think  you  seem  to  be  enjoying  yourself." 

"  Oh,  don't  let  Mevrouw  hear  you  say  that !"  she  cried,  in 
alarm.  The  Baroness  happened  to  be  passing.  Yes,  undoubt- 
edly, Ursula  was  a  drag. 


90  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Corne  out  into  the  garden,"  said  Gerard,  stopping  before 
her,  "  it's  tremendously  hot  here.  I've  kept  this  dance  free  for 
you ;  we'll  sit  it  out."     She  rose  and  obeyed  him. 

Helena  came  out  of  the  room  where  her  uncle  and  his  cronies 
were  playing  whist,  with  closed  windows.  Her  whole  figure 
was  a-sparkle  with  happiness.  "Isn't  it  beautiful?"  she  asked 
of  her  own  Papotier.  "  The  weather  is  perfect,  the  garden  is 
perfect,  the  music  is  perfect.  I  don't  think  we  ever  had  such 
a  pleasant  party  before." 

"  It  is  your  own  joy,  ma  cherie^''  said  the  governess,  drawing 
her  pupil  to  the  dark  staircase  window,  where  she,  Mademoiselle, 
stood  watching  the  dancers.  She  pointed  to  a  corner,  half-hid- 
den by  a  willow,  in  which  Gerard  and  Ursula  could  be  dimly 
descried.  "  That  is  the  prologue,  my  child,  to  your  romance," 
she  said.     "  Make  haste  to  get  on  to  the  story." 

"  Mademoiselle  !" 

"  Hush !  I  watched  her  at  dinner,  when  Madame  the  Bar- 
oness spoke.  I  have  watched  them  since.  It  is  nothing,  my 
dear;  it  is  even  delightful — a  compliment.  But  your  lover 
must  put  a  full-stop  to  the  prologue.  Perhaps  he  is  doing  it 
now.     Creep  behind,  if  you  will,  and  hear  what  they  say." 

''No,  indeed  1"  cried  the  young  Freule,  with  warmth. 

A  little  later  Ursula  was  again  alone  on  the  garden  seat.  She 
had  exchanged  but  a  few  distressful  sentences  with  Gerard.  He 
had  reproached  her  with  behavior  he  hardly  cared  or  dared  to 
analyze,  and  she  had  answered  hastily,  eager  to  vindicate  her- 
self, but  still  more  firmly  resolved  to  screen  Harriet's  reputation. 
Even  while  she  was  explaining,  lamely,  she  had  understood  the 
incredulous  smile  on  his  face.  He  had  come  out  of  the  brief 
conflict  as  a  champion  of  female  modesty,  leaving  her  helpless- 
ly, guiltily  crushed. 

A  white  figure  ghded  through  the  dusk  and  sank  down  by  her 
side.  The  evening  was  gentle  as  velvet,  caressingly  warm  and 
soft.  Over  yonder  shone  the  great  yellow  glare  of  the  music 
and  the  moving  .shadows ;  on  all  sides  gay,  ghastly  paper  lan- 
terns went  breaking  the  solemn  silence  of  the  trees.  This  spot 
of  Ursula's  choosing  was  dark  and  willow-sheltered,  alone  be- 
neath the  calm  blue  height  of  heaven. 


ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS  91 

"  Juffrouw  Rovers,"  said  the  Freule,  "  what  is  this  joke  be- 
tween you  and  Gerard  ?  You  see,  I  am  curious.  You  must 
forgive  a  spoiled  child.  What  did  he  mean  about  your  showing 
the  white  feather  ? 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Freule,  please,"  replied  Ursula,  shortly. 
"  For  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  So  Gerard  says.  It  must  be  a  very  dreadful  secret !" 
This  was  said  laughingly. 

Silence.  From  the  tent  came  the  strains  of  the  "  Liebchen 
Ade  "  gallop. 

"Great  Heaven,  it  must  be  a  very  dreadful  secret!"  The 
Freule  half  rose  from  her  seat ;  her  voice  trembled.  She  caught 
Ursula's  arm. 

"  It  can  only  be,"  she  said,  steadying  herself,  "  that  Gerard 
made  love  to  you  formerly.  That  is  rather  like  him.  I  am 
sorry.  It  was  wrong.  But  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
forget  him,  have  you  not  ?  He  is  so  charming ;  no  wonder 
women  love  him.  Poor  child,  it  was  cruel  of  us,  in  our  igno- 
rance, to  invite  you  to  behold  our  happiness."  In  a  sudden  im- 
pulse of  womanly  pity  she  put  an  arm  round  Ursula's  bare 
neck. 

"  It  isn't  that,"  gasped  Ursula.  "  Don't,  please,  say  I  love 
Gerard.     Oh,  Freule,  it's  a  great  deal  worse." 

She  hardly  knew  what  she  was  saying.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  A  great  deal  worse  !"  repeated  Helena,  drawing  away.  Ur- 
sula started  at  the  hardness  which  had  come  into  the  Freule's 
voice.  "  That  can  only  mean  " —  Helena  got  up  and  stood  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  seat.  "  I  refuse  to  say  it,"  she  continued. 
"  I  refuse  to  believe  it.     You  two  are  mad." 

The  dance-music  came  faster  from  the  lawn.  Ursula,  her 
head  bowed  low  upon  her  lap,  felt  that  in  her  cup  of  unmerited 
bitterness  not  a  drop  was  left  undrunk. 

"I  want  to  know  the  truth,"  Helena  went  on  after  a  moment. 
"  I  have  a  right  to  know  it  to-night.  If  you  still  feel  any  love 
for  Gerard,  do  him  a  good  turn  now.  We  are  girls  together. 
No  one  will  hear  you  but  I.  Tell  me  exactly  what  there  is  to 
tell,  and  I  will  forgive  him." 


92  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell,"  murmured  Ursula. 

The  Freule  stamped  her  foot. 

"  You  are  ruining  his  life,"  she  said.  "  I  will  never  marry 
him  till  I  know  how  much  you  have  been  to  each  other.  What 
happens  after  marriage  must  be  settled  after  marriage ;  but 
what  happened  before  I  will  know  now." 

"  We  have  never  been  anything  to  each  other,"  whispered 
Ursula.  "  Oh,  Freule,  have  pity,  and  let  me  alone  !"  But  even 
as  she  spoke  her  mood  changed.  Why  should  she  agonize  to 
save  this  girl's  selfish  happiness  at  the  cost  of  her  own  honor, 
of  an  innocent  victim's  peace  ?  She  lifted  herself  up.  "  Ask 
no  confessions  of  me,"  she  said.  "  Ask  them  of  your  future 
husband.  He  is  nothing  to  me.  You  have  no  right  to  assume 
that  he  ever  was." 

Even  in  the  shade  she  saw  Helena  change  color.  A  long 
silence  deepened  between  them.  Somebody  in  another  nook 
not  far  distant  laughed  shrilly.  There  was  a  clatter  of 
glasses. 

"  What  happened  before  I  must  know,"  said  Helena,  at  last. 
*'  I  will  never  marry  him  until  I  do." 

"  You  do  not  mean  that,"  said  Ursula,  but  the  other  took  no 
notice. 

"  I  understand,"  she  continued,  "  it  is  some  other  woman." 
She  tossed  up  her  head.  "  I  knew  I  wasn't  marrying  a  saint," 
she  said.  "  He  warned  me  about  that  himself.  But,  of  course, 
all  you  speak  of  is  past."  Then  she  broke  into  sudden  passion. 
*'  How  dare  you  come  and  talk  of  such  things  to  me  ?"  she  cried, 
advancing  on  Ursula.     "  How  dare  you  do  it  ?" 

"  But  I  have  talked  of  nothing !"  exclaimed  the  pastor's 
daughter.     "  It  is  you  who  torment  me — " 

"  I  know.  Never  mind,"  said  the  Freule,  interrupting  ;  "  tell 
me  one  thing.  This  girl  that  you  and  Gerard  are  thinking  of 
was — was — infamous  ?" 

Again  the  silence  which  is  dissent.  The  Freule  broke  into  a 
cry.  Fortunately  the  music  drowned  it.  The  "  Liebchen  Ade  " 
gallop  w^as  finishing  up  fast  and  furious. 

"  Don't  tell  me  she  was  good  like — like  you  and  me !  Don't 
tell  me :  I  don't  want  to  hear  it.     I  don't  care.     I  know  how 


ONE    HOUR    OF    HAPPINESS  93 

the  whole  story  runs ;  it's  in  so  many  novels.  All  men  do  such 
things.     And  the  girl  goes  on  the  stage  !" 

The  music  had  stopped.  The  bright  dancers  were  flowing 
out  into  the  cooler  grounds. 

"You  needn't  tell  me  anything,"  said  the  Freule,  hurriedly 
but  quietly.  "  I  have  guessed  it  all.  This  girl  is  good  and 
honest,  and  she  hoped  that  Gerard  would  marry  her.  She 
hopes  so  still.  Vou  hope  it.  Of  course  there  is  a  child — there 
always  is.  It  is  the  stalest  forni  of  pathetic  feuilleton,  and, 
therefore,  it  comes  true  in  my  life.  Good-bye,  Juffrouw  Ro- 
vers." 

She  sank  down  on  the  seat  again  and  waved  away  her  com- 
panion, hiding  her  golden  head  on  her  arms  against  the  back. 
It  was  very  still  now  in  this  forgotten  corner.  Ursula  stole  off 
to  the  house  without  taking  leave  of  any  one,  and,  having  re- 
covered her  cloak,  went  out  into  the  desolate  street,  alone  and 
on  foot,  amid  the  stupefied  stares  of  the  domestics. 

Several  minutes  elapsed  before  Helena  lifted  her  head.  She 
stared  from  her  bench  into  the  night. 

"Why  not  ?"  she  said,  half  aloud  ;  "  I  love  him.  All  women 
do  it.  There  was  that  creature  at  the  church  gate,  with  her 
brats,  when  Henri  van  Troyen  was  married." 

She  gathered  her  white  laces  about  her  and  shivered,  as  she 
rose  to  walk  towards  the  house.  On  the  stairs,  at  the  same  post 
by  her  dark  window,  like  a  spy,  still  stood  the  French  governess. 

"  Ma  vieille,"  began  Helena,  "  will  you  please  tell  mamma  I 
have  gone  to  my  room  with  a  very  bad  headache,  and  want  no- 
body to  disturb  me — not  even  her  or  yourself." 

"  But,  my  dear — " 

"The  romance  is  changing  to  a  tragedy,"  said  Helena. 
"  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XII 


"Yes,  uncle,  I  should  like  to  go  back  to  Horstwyk  to-day," 
Ursula  was  saying  at  breakfast.  "  I  have  had  a  letter  from 
father,  and  Aunt  Josine  seems  far  from  well." 

She  had  found  the  letter  on  her  return  from  last  night's  dis- 
sipation. It  was  a  long  and  affectionate  letter,  full  of  praises  of 
Otto,  who  came  frequently  to  the  Parsonage,  enjoying  the  quiet 
strength  of  the  minister's  talk.  The  letter  certainly  stated  that 
Miss  Mopius  had  been  laid  up  with  a  feverish  cold. 

"  Nonsense,  Ursula,"  cried  Mynheer  Mopius  loudly.  "  Of 
course,  Josine  has  been  ill ;  it's  her  solitary  pastime.  Why, 
your  visit  has  hardly  begun." 

"  We  want  to  hear  all  about  last  night,"  interposed  Harriet, 
in  her  sleepy  tones.  "  You  look  quite  worn  out  this  morning  ; 
you  must  have  enjoyed  yourself  immensely.'* 

"  Oh,  bother  last  night,"  said  Mopius.  "  We  don't  care  to 
know  about  the  grandees.     Were  there  many  of  them  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  there  were  a  good  many  people,"  replied  Ursula,  wea- 
rily, "  most  of  them  young.  I  didn't  enjoy  myself  so  very  much, 
because,  you  see,  I  don't  dance." 

"  Was  the  Governor  there,  or  his  wife,"  asked  Mopius,  "  or 
the  Burgomaster  ?     I  suppose  you  saw  the  Van  Troyens  ?" 

"And  the  Governor's  daughter?"  added  Harriet.  "The 
pretty  girl  with  the  hazel  eyes  ?" 

"  I  remember  a  Mr.  Van  Troyen,  an  officer,"  said  Ursula, 
vaguely.  "  Uncle,  may  I  send  a  telegram  for  this  afternoon.  I 
could  always  come  back  on  Monday,  you  know." 

"  Can't  you  miss  one  of  your  father's  discourses  ?  I  should 
have  thought  Sunday  was  the  one  day  you'd  like  to  stay  away. 


"an  old  maid's  love"  95 

But  I  don't  see  what  you  go  out  into  society  for,  Ursula.  At 
Batavia  I  danced  with  the  Governor-General's  lady." 

"Always?"  asked  Harriet  —  her  invariable  question  at  this 
stage  of  the  story. 

"  No,  not  always.  I  remember,  just  as  I  led  her  up,  I  saw 
there  was  a  huge  snake  coiled  round  her  arm." 

"  How  dreadful !"  said  Ursula,  stolidly.  She  had  heard  the 
denouement  on  former  occasions,  but  forgotten  it. 

"  A  gold  snake  !  Ha  ! — ha ! — ha !  Somebody  snatched  it  off 
a  few  months  afterwards.  A  brave  man.  Ha  ! — ha! — ha !  And 
your  aunt  used  to  dance  too.  Do  you  remember,  wife  ?  You 
were  really  quite  pretty  in  those  days.  We'll  dance  to-night," 
he  added,  "  and  teach  Ursula.    You  dance,  Harriet,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  to  any  one's  pipes,"  *  replied  Harriet. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  decided,  after  some  wrangling,  that  Ur- 
sula should  return  to  Horstwyk,  as  she  wished,  for  the  present. 
Mynheer  Mopius  chose  to  be  offended. 

The  girl  was  consumed  by  a  feverish  longing  to  get  away 
out  of  this  hot-house  atmosphere  into  the  pure  repose  of  her 
country  home.  All  morning  she  hid  away  in  her  room,  afraid 
to  look  out  on  the  little  town,  over  which,  to  her  excited  fancy, 
an  ominous  thunder-cloud  seemed  to  hang.  What  would  hap- 
pen next?  How  would  Helena  act?  How  Gerard?  In  her 
heart  she  hoped  that  justice  would  be  done  to  the  injured  shop- 
girl, and  yet  dared  not  measure  the  result. 

Just  before  luncheon  a  note  was  brought  her.  She  sat  down 
before  opening  it.  Harriet  laughed.  "  With  due  preparation," 
said  Harriet.     "  What  is  it  ?     Another  invitation  to  a  dance  ?" 

The  letter  contained  only  these  words  written  by  Helena : 

"  Keep  my  secret :  I  would  have  kept  yours." 

They  left  her  no  wiser. 

"  My  dear,  come  into  my  room  for  a  moment,"  said  Mevrouw 
Mopius,  with  timid  voice.  The  feeble  little  creature  sniffed  ner- 
vously.    "  Forget  what  I  told  you,  Ursula,"  she  went  on,  as 

*  Idiom. 


96  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

soon  as  they  were  alone.  "  And  remember  you  are  bound  by 
oath.  If  Mopius  ever  hears,  it  must  be  through  you."  She 
peered  sternly  at  her  niece. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  will  remember,"  replied  Ursula.  "  But  you  are 
feeling  better,  aunt,  are  you  not?  You  are  not  as  bad  as  when 
I  came." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  smiled.  "  I  shall  be  better  soon,"  she  said. 
Then  she  went  to  her  particular  old-fashioned  mahogany  "sec- 
retary," and,  after  a  good  deal  of  fumbling  and  searching,  ex- 
tracted from  one  of  many  receptacles  a  small  tissue-paper  par- 
cel, which  she  brought  back  to  Ursula.  "  This  is  for  you,"  she 
said,  thrusting  it  into  the  girl's  hand.  "  I've  made  it  since  you 
came,  sitting  up  in  bed  these  summer  mornings."  Ursula 
opened  the  parcel,  her  aunt  watching  meanwhile  with  a  certain 
pride. 

It  contained  a  small  square  bit  of  red  wool-work,  with  the 
bead  -  embroidered  device,  "  No  cross,  no  crown,"  the  two  sub- 
stantives being  presented  pictorially. 

"  I  could  have  taken  more  time  to  it,"  pleaded  Mevrouw  Mo- 
pius, "  but  I  had  to  wait  for  the  daylight :  a  candle  wakes  your 
uncle ;  and,  once  up,  I  have  to  work  at  *  Laban  and  Jacob.'  I 
am  exceedingly  anxious  to  get  them  ready  before" —  She 
stopped.  "  Good-bye,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  like 
my  work.  You  might  use  it  under  a  lamp,  or  for  the  fire-irons, 
unless  you  disapprove  of  that  on  account  of  the  words.  I  don't 
think  I  should." 

So  Ursula  returned  very  quietly  and  humbly.  There  was  no 
marshalling  of  porters,  and  she  travelled  second  class.  At  the 
little  market -town  station  her  father  met  her;  together  they 
trudged  the  two  miles  side  by  side  almost  silently,  for  the 
girl's  few  answers  had  soon  convinced  the  Domine  that  conver- 
sation had  become  for  the  moment,  what  he  most  detested,  an 
ambuscade. 

In  the  half-light  of  the  calm,  cool  study,  amid  the  well-known, 
stilly  sympathetic  books,  she  sat  with  her  two  hands  in  his  one, 
on  a  footstool  by  the  faded  leather  arm-chair,  and,  lifting  those 
big  brown  eyes  of  hers  to  his  steadfast  response,  she  told  him 


"AN    OLD    maid's    LOVE  "  97 

how  the  city  is  full  of  wickedness  incredible,  and  that  Apollyon 
rules  the  world. 

He  listened  to  her  very  quietly,  and  yet  he  was  greatly 
shocked.  True,  evil  had  few  secrets  for  him  ;  he  had  seen  more 
of  the  world's  corruption  than  most  men,  in  the  red  glare  of  the 
Algerian  night,  amid  the  devil's  dance  of  shrieking  drunkenness 
and  bare-breasted  debauch.  He  had  seen  too  much.  He  was 
one  of  those  happy  mortals  who  always  think  the  world  is 
better  than  it  used  to  be.  "  In  my  day  " — he  would  begin,  and 
sigh  cheerfully — "but  we  have  greatly  improved  since  then." 
It  was  doubly  sad,  therefore,  to  hear  that  Gerard,  the  warrior, 
despite  the  weekly  bugle  -  call  to  resistance,  should  have  sur ' 
rendered  at  discretion  to  so  pitiful  a  cutthroat  as  Lustings. 
The  Domine  had  an  ineradicable  weakness  for  a  brave  soldier. 
Havelock  and  Hedley  Vicars  hung  large  against  his  peaceful 
wall,  and  between  them  a  very  different  hero,  Bugeaud. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  Domine,  while  Ursula,  having  fin- 
ished, sat  heavy  with  sorrowful  wrath —  "  Well,  my  dear,  the 
farther  we  go  the  more  we  see  of  the  battle-field.  I  am  not 
sorry  you  should  have  reconnoitred  a  little.  And  I  rejoice  all 
the  more  now  to  think  how  mistaken  I  was  about  you  and 
Gerard.  You  must  know,  my  dear,  that  at  one  time,  though  I 
never  mentioned  it  to  you,  I  fancied  you  might  be  setting  your 
affections  on  the  Jonker.  I  spoke  of  it  unwillingly  to  your 
aunt,  for  I  had  no  other  woman  to  confide  in  " — the  Domine's 
voice  grew  reflective — "  but  she  said  it  was  all  stuff  and  non- 
sense, at  once,  and  you  weren't  such  a  piece  of  vanity  as  that. 
Your  aunt  is  not  a  woman  of  exceptional  discrimination ;  still, 
I  am  glad  to  see  she  was  right.  It  would  have  been  a  great 
mistake  on  your  part,  Ursula,  and  a  cause  of  much  useless 
regret." 

"  I  shall  never  love  any  man  but  you,"  said  Ursula,  vehe- 
mently.    "  They're  all  alike.     No  woman  ought  to  marry." 

The  pastor  smiled,  and  passed  his  hand  over  her  smooth  head. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  never  know  a  worthless 
love.  A  hopeless  love,  even  a  dead  love,  these  may  ennoble 
man  or  woman.  But  a  love  of  the  undeserving  can.  only  lure 
into  an  impasse. ^^ 


MY  LADY  NOBODY 


She  smiled  confidently. 

"  No  ;  the  Jonker  van  Helmont  is  not  for  such  as  us,  Ursula," 
continued  the  old  man.  "  So  much  the  better.  My  child,  you 
will  marry  if  God  pleases  and  whom  he  pleases  ;  but  I  hope  it 
will  be  in  your  own  station  of  life.  Not  that  we  must  judge 
any  class  as  such.  There  is  Otto,  for  instance.  He  is  not  a 
pleasure-seeker.  We  have  seen  much  of  him,  my  dear,  in  your 
absence.  He  most  kindly  came  to  comfort  me.  He  has  re- 
turned from  the  Indies  as  he  went,  the  same  pure  lover  of  all 
that  is  good.  Even  in  our  day  the  Almighty  leads  some  men 
untainted  through  the  furnace."  And  the  simple-hearted  pastor 
launched  into  praises  of  his  favorite,  unwittingly  digging  pit- 
falls on  paths  as  yet  untrod. 

"  And  as  for  most  men,"  he  said,  "  human  nature  is  still  much 
what  it  was  in  the  days  of  Thucydides.  What  says  Diodorus, 
the  son  of  Eu crates,  the  Athenian  ?  '  All  men  are  naturally  dis- 
posed to  do  wrong;  and  no  law  will  ever  keep  them  from  it.' 
And  that  was  the  historian's  own  view ;  he  repeats  it  some 
chapters  later.  As  for  women,  you  remember  what  he  makes 
Pericles  say  of  them.  It  holds  true,  in  spite  of  emancipation. 
*  Great  is  the  glory  of  her  who  is  least  talked  of  among  the  men, 
either  for  good  or  for  evil.'     You  remember  that,  Ursula  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Captain,"  said  Ursula,  into  whose  whole  life 
this  maxim  had  been  constantly  woven. 

"You  might  read  the  history  through  once  more  with  the 
greatest  advantage.  No  writer  that  I  know  will  reveal  to  you 
more  of  the  conflict  of  human  passions,  excepting,  of  course, 
John  Bunyan." 

The  good  pastor  did  not  know  many  writers.  He  was  not  by 
any  means  a  literary  man. 

Miss  Mopius  sailed  into  the  room  unannounced,  and  inter- 
rupted their  quiet  conversation.  Two  little  peculiarities  of  this 
lady's — trifles,  light  as  air — were  a  source  of  unending  irritation 
to  her  brother-in-law.  The  one  was  her  tacit  refusal  to  prelude 
her  invasions  of  his  sanctum,  the  other  was  her  persistent  drawl 
of  his  soldierly  name  into  a  sound  which  was  neither  PVench 
nor  English,  nor  anything  but  absurd.  The  Domine  was  a 
brave  man  ;  he  was  exceedingly  afraid  of  his  dead  wife's  sister, 


"  AN    OLD    MAID  S    LOVE  99 

not  SO  much  on  account  of  himself  as  on  account.of  the  use  to 
which  Diabolus  put  her  in  the  great  siege  of  the  Domine's 
Mansou]. 

By  sheer  force  of  will  Miss  Mopius  had  taught  herself  to  ad- 
mit that  she  was  thirty-two  years  old,«but  she  would  never  see 
forty  again.  She  was  endowed  with  a  sallow  complexion,  to 
which  she  had  added  auburn  ringlets  and  rainbow-colored  rai- 
ment. To  describe  her  as  an  entirely  imaginary  invalid  would 
have  been  malevolent ;  nature  had  provided  her  with  a  tendency 
to  nervous  headaches  which  kindly  fostering  had  developed  into 
a  vocation. 

She  had  come  to  the  widower  as  a  thorn  in  the  flesh.  Limp 
and  listless,  absolutely  unable  to  "  resist"  anything  that  attracted 
her,  she  devoted  herself  day  and  night  to  the  harassing  service 
of  her  own  caprices.  Being  not  entirely  destitute  of  means,  she 
might  easily  have  enjoyed  her  nerves  to  the  full  in  some  board- 
ing-house, but  she  knew  her  duty  to  her  motherless  niece. 

"I  should  not  stay  with  you,  Roderigue,"  she  was  wont  to 
say,  "  though  Ursula,  of  course,  will  not  marry  for  many  years 
yet.  When  she  does,  I  shall  consider  my  mission  is  ended.  I 
should  not  be  wanted  then.'''' 

She  paused,  expectant.  But  the  Domine  never  answered,  for 
he  held  that,  in  the  spiritual  warfare,  a  falsehood  is  the  easiest 
and  most  cowardly  method  of  running  away. 

"  Ursula,  ray  dear,"  began  Miss  Mopius,  in  a  flow  of  sugared 
vinegar,  "  I  have  been  suffering  the  greatest  anxiety.  I  thought 
you  had  not  returned.     I  suppose,  however,  the  train  was  late." 

Ursula,  rising  hastily,  confessed  that  the  train  had  been 
punctual. 

"  Really  !  Well,  I'm  afraid  I  interrupted  you.  This  con- 
versation must  have  been  of  the  greatest  importance,  or  you 
would  hardly  have  so  entirely  forgotten  your  poor  old  aunt." 
Miss  Mopius  constantly  used  that  appellation  ;  of  late  she  had 
sometimes  wondered  whether  it  was  becominor  unwise.  She 
spoke  in  almost  continuous  italics  ;  these,  however,  were  mostly 
independent  of  sense. 

"  I  suppose  your  father  informed  you,"  she  continued,  set- 
tling herself  in  the  Domine's  chair,  "  that  I  have  been  exceed- 


100  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

ingly  unwell  since  you  left.  Day  after  day  I  have  dragged 
myself  down-stairs,  so  as  not  to  let  liim  sit  down  to  his  dinner 
alone,  but  my  nights  were  too  terrible  to  speak  of."  She 
paused,  that  Ursula  might  speak  of  them. 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Ursula,  without  any  accent  at  all. 

"  Last  night,  for  instance,  I  was  in  agony  from  twelve  to 
three — in  agony.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  with- 
out my  vegetable  electricity.  I  took  it  at  three,  and  the  pain 
vanished  immediately." 

"  Why  didn't  you  take  it  at  once  ?"  asked  Ursula. 

'*  Ursula,  you  have  not  the  slightest  comprehension  of  medi- 
cines. Fortunate  child,  it  is  your  lack  of  experience.  Medi- 
cines never  act  if  taken  at  once." 

The  Domine  had  basely  deserted  his  own  fortress. 

"Ursula,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Mopius,  sitting  up  with  quite 
unusual  energy,  "  no  wonder  my  health  has  suffered.  Some- 
thing very  important  has  happened  since  you  went  away." 

"  Really  ?"  asked  Ursula,  wondering  what  the  maid -of- all- 
work  had  broken. 

"  Yes,  but  it's  no  use  speaking  of  it  to  your  father.  Ursula, 
Otto  van  Helmont  comes  here  every  evening.  Since  you  left, 
mind  you.     Now,  I  ask,  what  can  that  mean  ?" 

"He  had  only  four  evenings  before  I  left,"  replied  Ursula, 
with  some  spirit,  "one  of  them  was  free,  and  he  came." 

"  One  doesn't  count.  That  was  a  formal  call,"  replied  Miss 
Mopius,  loftily.  "  I  ask,  what  does  it  mean  ?  He  sits  and  talks 
and  talks.  Nominally  to  your  father.  Ursula,  I  have  watched 
him  ;  he  never  speaks  to  me."  She  sank  back  in  her  chair  and 
began  to  count  on  her  lanky  fingers,  without  taking  further  note 
of  her  companion.  "  He  never  speaks  to  me — one.  He  never 
looks  at  me — two.  But  he  brought  me  a  n6segay — three.  He 
said  it  was  from  his  mother — foui\"  She  roused  herself  from 
her  reverie.  "  Ursula,  my  child,"  she  asked,  "  why  does  he 
bring  me  a  nosegay,  and  say  it  is  from  his  mother  ?" 

"  Because  it  is,"  replied  Ursula. 

Miss  Mopius  scornfully  shook  her  curls.  "  Does  the  Baron- 
ess send  me  roses  in  midsummer  ?"  she  inquired.  "  Dear  girl, 
you  are  too  young ;  I  should  have  considered  that.     But  there 


"an  old  maids  love  101 

are  moments  in  a  woman's  existence  when  she  craves  for  the 
sympathy  of  her  sex.  If  only  my  dear  elder  sister  were  alive — 
she  was  so  much  my  elder ! — to  help  me  now.  Go,  dear  child, 
go ;  at  some  distant  day  your  own  turn  will  come,  and  then 
you  will  understand." 

"Yes,  aunt,"  said  Ursula,  gladly  moving  towards  the  door. 

"  Stay  one  instant,"  cried  the  spinster.  "  Child,  are  you  so 
eager  to  return  to  your  diversions  ?  He  is  good-looking,  Ursula. 
I  have  watched  him,  as  I  said.  His  face  is  careworn  and  ear- 
nest ;  he  is  no  mere  beardless  boy  just  dipping  into  life,  but  a 
man  who  has  swum  against  the  current.  He  has  experience 
and  judgment,  and  he  knows.  Ursula,  I  would  not  marry  a 
beardless  boy." 

"Aunt,"  said  Ursula,  suddenly  coming  back  into  the  room, 
"  do  you  mean  to  say  you  want  to  marry  Mynheer  Otto  van 
Helmont  ?" 

"  Silly  child,  does  a  woman  say  such  things  ?  Of  course,  I 
know,  Ursula,  as  well  as  you  do,  that  he  is  much  older  than  I 
am.  That  is  a  matter  I  must  seriously  consider  before  I 
reply." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  actually  asked  you  ?"  cried 
Ursula,  clasping  her  hands  in  wonderment. 

"  Not  directly.  Child,  how  raw  you  are,  and  how  rawly  you 
put  things.  But  I  have  my  reasons  for  believing  that  he  will 
do  so  to-night.  That  is  why  I  was  unwillingly  compelled  to 
speak  to  you  on  the  subject.  Be  sure  that  otherwise  I  should 
never  have  done  so." 

"  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  it  ?"  queried  Ursula,  stupefied. 

"  Not  to  give  your  consent,  you  may  be  sure,"  retorted  Miss 
Mopius,  snappishly.  "  When  Otto  comes  to-night,  as  he  cer- 
tainly will,  I  want  you,  during  ten  minutes,  to  draw  off  your 
father.  The  poor  fellow  never  gets  a  chance.  He  said  as  much 
yesterday,  in  departing.  *  The  Domine  and  I  have  so  much  to 
say  to  each  other,'  he  remarked,  '  that  T  never  seem  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  chatting  with  you.  Miss  Mopius.'  And  with 
that  he  gave  me  a  look.  Ursula,  I  believe  you  take  me  for  a 
fool.     Do  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  dear  aunt,"  exclaimed  Ursula,  hastily. 


102  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"One  would  say  so,  if  you  imagine  I  suck  these  things  out 
of  my  thumb.*  I  assure  you  I  have  very  good  reason  to  know 
what  I  know.  I  am  not  a  chit,  like  you,  to  fancy  a  man  is  in 
love  because  he  looks  at  me." 

"There,  there,  go  away,"  she  added.  "The  whole  thing  has 
greatly  exhausted  me.  I  am  not  strong ;  that  is  the  worst.  But 
so  I  shall  honestly  tell  him." 

"  You  will  accept  him,"  cried  Ursula,  preparing  to  vanish. 

"  That  will  depend  upon  various  considerations,"  replied  Miss 
Mopius.  "What  is  it,  Drika?  Ursula,  hold  your  tongue,  and 
let  the  servant  pass." 

Ursula  turned  hastily  in  the  open  doorway. 

"The  Jonker  Otto  is  in  the  drawing-room,"  said  the  red- 
cheeked  maid. 

Miss  Mopius  turned  pale,  then  red.  "  Go  to  him,  child,"  she 
said,  pleadingly.    "  Amuse  him  till  I  come.     And  remember — " 

Ursula  did  not  go  in  to  Otto.  A  sudden  shyness  was  upon 
her;  besides  she  felt  no  desire  to  meet  any  member  just  now 
of  the  Van  Helmont  family.  So  the  Jonker  paced  up  and 
down  the  little  parlor  till  the  Domine  was  attracted  in  to  him 
through  the  windows. 

Juffrouw  Josine  spent  twenty  minutes  over  the  secrets  of  her 
toilet.  Her  poor  old  heart  beat  wildly.  "  He  cannot  even  wait 
till  the  evening,"  she  thought.  "The  densest  fool  would  under- 
stand." When  at  last  she  descended,  arrayed  in  her  best  Sun- 
day green-silk  dress  with  the  poppies,  she  was  surrounded  by 
odors  of  ess.  bouquet  and  sal  volatile. 

She  had  to  pause  before  the  drawing-room  door  and  steady 
herself.  She  entered.  There  was  Otto,  a  great  bunch  of  apri- 
cot-colored roses  in  one  hand,  bending  over  a  map  of  Java  with 
the  Domine.  "  That  is  my  part,"  he  was  saying.  "  One  of 
the  healthiest,  I  assure  you,  Domine.  All  the  men  take  their 
wives  out  there." 

"Ah!"  thought  Miss  Mopius.  She  shook  hands,  and  the 
Jonker  rather  awkwardly  presented  his  flowers. 

"  From  mv  mother,"  he  stammered,  "  to  welcome   Miss  Ro- 


Idiom. 


"AN    OLD    MAIDS    LOVE  103 

"  How  kind  of  yov\  to  bring  them,"  replied  Miss  Mopius,  sit- 
ting down  on  the  sofa  and  sniffing.  "  I  hope  Ursula  will  be 
grateful.     /  consider  it  most  exceedingly  kind." 

She  squinted  across  at  the  Domine,  who  still  bent  over 
the  map.  There  was  a  long  wait,  and  Otto  returned  to  the 
table. 

''  Roderigue,"  said  Miss  Mopius,  in  desperation.  <'  Ursula 
wants  you.     She  wants  you  at  once  !" 

The  minister  lifted  a  countenance  of  mild  astonishment. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  remembering  his  daughter's  painful 
experiences  of  the  last  days,  "  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,  Otto. 
I  want  to  ask  you  about  that  mission  station  you  were  tell- 
ing me  of." 

Otto  seated  himself  near  to  the  lady. 

"  Miss  Rovers,  I  hear,"  said  Otto,  "  has  safely  returned." 

The  lady  bowed  over  her  flowers. 

"  She  came  back  earlier  than  she  had  intended,"  continued 
the  Jonker.  "  I  suppose  that  she  felt  being  away  from  what  is 
doubtless  a  most  happy  home." 

"  I  try  to  make  it  happy,"  murmured  Miss  Mopius. 

"  Could  you  do  otherwise  ?"  said  Otto,  fervently.  And  he 
added,  in  a  tone  that  was  almost  sad,  "  It  seems  cruel  to  disturb 
your  trefoil  even  for  a  day." 

And  he  looked  at  her  meditatively. 

Miss  Mopius  gasped  for  breath.  She  muttered  something 
about  "  leaving  and  cleaving." 

Otto  stared  at  her. 

"  Yes ;  it's  very  hot,"  he  hazarded.  "  Shall  I  open  the  win- 
dow ?" 

Miss  Mopius  somewhat  recovered  herself. 

"  Oh  !"  she  replied,  "  but  not  as  hot  as  Java,  I  suppose  ?  Not 
nearly  as  hot  as  Java.  I  should  enjoy  Java.  I  like  heat.  I'm 
not  strong.  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  but  the  hot  weather  always 
does  me  good.     I'm  sure  I  should  feel  much  better  in  Java." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  vaguely.  "  Would  you  prefer  me,  then,  to 
shut  the  window  again?'* 

"  The  window  ?  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  under  the  cir- 
cumstances.    The  question  you  asked  me  just  now  is  so  mo- 


104  Mr    LADY    NOBODY 

mentous,  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  I  do  not  know  how  to  answer 
it.  Oh,  that  my  dear  elder  sister  were  with  me  still !  She  was 
very  much  my  elder,  very  much  so.  I  miss  her  guidance,  her 
motherly  advice." 

She  hesitated,  and  her  eyelids  fluttered. 

"  Juffrouw  Rovers's  mother  ?"  said  Otto.  "  I  suppose  she  was 
very  beautiful  ?" 

"  Well,  I  hardly  know  if  you  would  have  called  her  beautiful. 
She  was  not  at  all  like  me." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Otto.  "  I  suppose  Juffrouw  Rovers  is  like 
her?" 

"  Oh  no ;  Ursula  takes  after  her  father's  family.  The 
Mopiuses  were  always  famous  for  their  delicate  skins." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Otto,  shifting  on  his  chair.  "  Well,  I  am  a 
plain  man  ;  perhaps  not  much  a  judge  of  beauty — " 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  interposed  the  lady,  smiling. 

"  But  I  know  when  I  like  a  face.  Miss  Mopius.  I  think 
an  honest  face  is  of  more  importance  than  mere  good  looks." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  assented  the  lady,  reddening. 

"  I  mean  in  a  man.  I  trust.  Miss  Mopius,  that  you  have  no 
aversion  to  my  face — or  me." 

The  lady  tittered,  and  buried  her  nose  in  her  bouquet. 

*'  I  wish  I  could  flatter  myself  you  even  liked  me.  But  that's 
nonsense.     I'm  a  conceited  fool." 

"I  do,"  whispered  the  spinster,  with  downcast  eyes — "a 
little." 

Otto  got  up  and  warmly  clasped  her  disengaged  hand. 

"  How  good  it  is  of  you  to  say  that,"  he  cried,  heartily. 
"  Then  you  will,  won't  you  ?  How  awfully  good  of  you."  And, 
with  another  energetic  shake  of  those  skinny  fingers,  he  walked 
from  the  room. 

Miss  Mopius  opened  her  eyes  wide,  very  wide.  Presently, 
however,  she  nodded  her  curls. 

"  Of  course,"  she  murmured,  "  he  has  gone  to  speak  with 
Roderigue." 

A  soft  flush  spread  over  her  pale  cheeks,  and  she  waited. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH 

Ursula  sat  by  herself  in  the  veranda  through  the  sweetly 
fading  silence  of  the  summer  Sabbath  evening.  She  had  now 
been  back  in  her  tranquil  home  for  more  than  four-and-twenty 
hours.  It  was  good  for  her  that  her  return  had  heralded  the 
holy  calm  of  that  long,  sunlight-flooded  day  of  rest.  She  had 
slept  as  young  twenty  sleeps  when  worn  out,  whether  from  work 
or  weeping  ;  she  had  risen  as  young  twenty  rises,  to  a  world 
that  is  bright  again.  The  peace  of  the  familiar  village-round 
was  upon  her :  the  drowsy  morning  service,  the  droning  Sun- 
day-school, the  empty  afternoon  "  catechism."  Had  her  fa- 
ther's text,  she  wondered,  been  inspired  by  the  thought  of  his 
absent  child  at  Drum  !  He  had  preached  on  "  Keep  yourself 
unspotted  from  the  world."  She  desired  nothing  more  ardent- 
ly.    Here  was  she  returned  in  time  to  point  the  moral. 

Her  hands  lay  idle  in  her  lap,  an  emblem  of  the  day's  repose. 
The  whole  village  had  folded  its  hands  to  watch  the  lengthen- 
ing shadows.  A  few  conspicuous  white  shirt-sleeves  lolled 
against  the  church-yard  wall.  And  somewhere  a  bullfinch  was 
carolling,  breaking  the  Sabbath  in  his  own  divinely  appointed 
way. 

"  How  hushed  it  all  is,"  thought  Ursula,  looking  up  to  the 
far  plumes  of  the  motionless  poplars.  And  the  lull  sank  around 
her  own  soul.  Why  break  our  hearts  over  the  scuffling  and 
splashing  of  one  or  two  swimmers?  The  river  of  God's  glory 
flows  steadily  on.  She  laid  a  tired  head  on  its  current ;  for  a 
moment  the  waters  were  stilled. 

She  did  not  even  care  to  penetrate  the  mystery  concerning 
her  Aunt  Josine.     The  confidences  of  the  preceding  afternoon 


106  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

had  been  succeeded  by  an  extreme  reserve  which  the  lady's  two 
companions  almost  provokingly  respected.  The  pastor  knew 
of  nothing.  At  dinner,  on  the  Saturday,  he  had  been  mildly 
astonished  by  an  atmosphere  of  constraint,  in  the  midst  of 
which  his  sister-in-law  had  suddenly  ejaculated, 

"  Well,  Roderigue  ?"  with  the  vehemence  of  a  bomb-shell. 

He  had  answered, 

"  Well,  Josine  ?  It  certainly  is  much  better  than  the  last 
joint,  though  she  will  over-roast  it,"  a  reply  which  did  not  seem 
to  give  full  satisfaction  to  its  recipient. 

"  He  has  gone,  first  of  all,  to  obtain  his  father's  permission," 
thought  Miss  Mopius.  *'  I  might  have  known.  With  the  aris- 
tocracy a  father  is  a  very  important  personage." 

She  retired  early  with  a  headache  which  not  even  the  vege- 
table electricity  could  combat.  It  extended  over  the  Sunday, 
as  Miss  Mopius's  headaches  naturally  would.  She  lay  on  her 
sofa  and  sighed  at  intervals.  People  would  not  be  suprised  at 
her  lying  on  the  sofa.  Had  she  not  sighed  at  intervals,  Ursula 
would  have  risen  to  see  what  was  wrong. 

The  church-clock  had  just  struck  seven;  in  the  ensuing 
pause  of  expectancy  its  last  note  was  still  trembUng  away  into 
nothing,  when  Ursula's  closed  eyes  became  conscious  that  some- 
body was  watching  them.  She  started  to  her  feet  in  confusion, 
a  little  ruffled  and  rumpled,  before  the  admiring  gaze  of  the 
Jonker  Otto  van  Helmont. 

"  I  must  have  been  dozing  off,"  she  said. 

"You  were  asleep.  I  am  sorry  I  woke  you,"  replied  honest 
Otto,  "but  I  came  with  a  message  from  my  mother.  She  is 
very  anxious  to  speak  to  you.  She — she  wants  you  to  come  up 
to-night.     If  you  would  ?" 

Ursula  hesitated.  She  saw  the  dog-cart  standing  by  the 
gate,  a  village  lad  erect  at  the  horse's  head.  Continental  Sab- 
baths are  not  like  English  ;  still,  the  Domine's  daughter  was  not 
accustomed  to  Sunday  driving. 

"  She  made  me  come,"  continued  Otto,  apologetically  ;  "  but 
if  you'd  rather  stay — " 

"  I  will  ask  papa,  and  be  ready  in  five  minutes,"  she  answered. 


FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH  107 

promptly.  Her  pulse  quickened.  Doubtless  there  was  some 
fresh  trouble  about  Gerard.  If  so,  it  was  her  duty  to  "  go 
through." 

Presently  Otto  saw  her  coming  down  the  garden  path 
with  her  strong,  brisk  step,  in  straw  hat  and  woolley  wrap,  all 
light  and  bright,  among  the  thick  gayety  of  the  wall-flowers 
and  the  pink  flare  of  the  hollyhocks. 

*'  Why,  it's  Beauty  !"  she  cried,  as  she  drew  near,  recogniz- 
ing the  mare. 

"  Yes,  none  of  the  other  horses  were  available,  and  none  of 
the  men  were  about,  so  I  harnessed  her  myself  and  came  away. 
I  hope  Gerard  won't  object,  for  once.     It  couldn't  be  helped." 

No  one  but  Gerard,  and  Gerard's  particular  groom,  was  al- 
lowed to  touch  Gerard's  particular  mare.  She  was  his  prime 
favorite,  and  deservedly  so,  for  neither  of  the  saddle-horses 
could  stand  in  her  shadow.  But  most  horses,  unlike  men,  have 
one  or  two  faults,  and  Beauty's  was  nervousness. 

"  You  know  we  expected  Gerard  this  morning,"  began  Otto, 
as  the  dog-cart  bowled  along.  "  He  was  to  have  brought  my 
cousin  with  him,  you  know.  But  in  their  stead  comes  a  tele- 
gram this  afternoon  to  say  that  Helena  is  ill.  Mother  worries 
to  know  what  is  really  the  matter,  and  she  has  sent  for  you  to 
give  her  the  latest  news  of  them  all." 

Ursula  did  not  answer.  She  had  expected  further  embroil- 
ment. And,  somehow,  she  was  growing  to  feel  awkward  in  Otto's 
presence  despite,  or  perhaps  partly  on  account  of,  her  father's 
praise.  That  morning  during  church  she  had  been  sensible  of 
his  quiet  admiration,  and  had  experienced,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  existence,  not  the  blush  of  being  stared  at,  but  the  glow  of 
being  discreetly  observed. 

Now,  again,  as  she  sat  watching  the  horse's  head,  she  per- 
ceived, without  seeing  them,  some  long-drawn  side  glances. 
Her  nostrils  tingled,  and  she  wished  there  had  been  a  groom 
on  the  back  seat. 

"  Well,  and  did  you  enjoy  your  uncle's  Indian  stories  ?" 
queried  Otto,  breaking  a  silence  that  was  becoming  acute. 
"Did  he  tell  you  anything  very  dreadful  this  time?  How 
often  did  he  find  a  tiger  under  his  pillow  at  Batavia  ?" 


108  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

She  laughed,  and  they  talked  lightly  of  Uncle  Jacobus,  and 
of  the  life  out  yonder  in  the  Indies,  where  everything  is  gi- 
gantic compared  to  little  Holland,  even  the  money -making,  and 
also  the  mortality. 

"  So  your  mind  is  made  up  more  firmly  than  ever,"  he  con- 
cluded.    "  You  would  never  go  out  to  Java  on  any  account  ?" 

**No,"  she  answered,  flushing.  "And,  besides,  remember 
my  father !  What  would  become  of  him  if  I  were  to  leave  him 
alone  with  " — she  pulled  up — "  himself !"  she  said. 

"  True,"  he  replied,  exceedingly  gravely.  Both  were  occu- 
pied with  their  thoughts  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  they 
began  to  talk  of  something  else. 

They  had  reached  a  spot  along  the  lonely  country  road  where  it 
suddenly  curved  among  a  solitary  cluster  of  cottages.  On  both 
sides  it  stretches  away,  very  narrow  and  smooth,  and  almost 
treeless,  between  parallel  ditches  and  far-extending  fields.  Two 
landaus  could  not  pass  each  other  with  safety,  but  it  is  largely 
used  in  summer-time  by  overloaded  hay-wains.  For  those  who 
know  Holland  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  a  tram-line  occupies 
two-thirds  of  it. 

This  tram-line,  which  runs  largely  through  desolation,  has  to 
twist  round  the  curve  of  the  cottages.  Where  it  does  so  it  has 
just  emerged  from  a  thicket ;  and  the  whole  is  so  arranged  by 
nature  and  science  that  the  locomotive  can  flatten  the  cottage- 
children  without  their  being  alarmed  by  seeing  its  approach. 

On  this  slumbrous  Sunday  evening  the  women  were  enjoying 
a  brief  period  of  repose.  The  smaller  children  were  in  bed ; 
the  bigger  ones  had  gone  plum-stealing.  Fathers  and  mothers 
sat  stolidly  by  the  door  with  slow  pipe  or  slower  speech.  As 
the  dog-cart  came  racing  along,  the  men  raised  their  caps.  One 
of  them,  however,  shouted  something. 

"  The  tram  !"  exclaimed  Ursula,  half-rising.  Otto  had  already 
set  his  teeth  tight ;  both  knew  it  was  too  late.  Even  as  the  cry 
went  up,  the  great  engine,  silent  and  deadly,  loomed  in  front  of 
them  like  a  hideous,  falling  rock.  There  was  just  room  enough 
between  the  rails  and  the  cottage-walls  for  it  to  graze  their  lat- 
eral splash-board  in  rushing  by.  But  a  carelessly  projecting 
shutter  rendered  this  escape  impossible.     As  the  mare  sprang 


FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH  109 

aside,  the  off-wheel  caught  the  obstacle,  and  sent  it  clattering 
back  against  the  wall.  For  an  instant — the  hundredth  part  of  a 
second — the  double  crash  all  around  seemed  to  stun  her ;  then 
up  went  her  ears,  down  went  her  neck  ;  she  was  off. 

The  villagers  ran  round  the  corner,  emptily  shouting.  The 
tram  sailed  serenely  on. 

''  Sit  still,"  said  the  Jonker  between  his  closed  teeth.  The 
advice  was  superfluous,  for  the  girl  had  immediately  sunk  back 
again,  clutching  the  hand-rail  beside  and  behind  her,  frozen  to 
calm.     She  did  not  answer,  and  the  vehicle  went  rushing  on. 

Forward  the  naked  road  stretched,  white  and  thin,  between 
two  dark  lines  of  water ;  forward  the  horse  flew,  drinking,  as  it 
were,  that  road  before  it  with  pendent  head — crashing  onward 
in  a  cloud  of  dust  and  stones  and  sparks.  There  was  nothing 
to  confront  or  pass  them  as  they  tore  through  yielding  infinity, 
except  here  and  there  a  sleepy  calf  that  tried  to  race  them  as 
children  would  a  train.  There  was  nothing  but  the  wide  lilac 
heaven  all  around,  with  the  boundlessness  of  a  horizon  that 
ever  recedes  and  a  highway  that  ever  lengthens  out.  It  was  the 
very  delirium  and  terror  of  motion,  such  as  few  mortals  can  ex- 
perience, the  irresisted,  irresistible  forward  rush  of  the  whole 
being — the  concentration  of  all  thought  into  that  one  idea  of  a 
sweep  through  immensity.  For  one  moment  the  laws  of  time 
and  space  were  annulled ;  there  was  no  distance,  no  limit,  no 
measurement,  nothing  but  an  infinite  impression  of  velocity. 
The  high  carriage  sailed  through  the  summer  warmth  like  a 
bird.  On — on — on  !  For  ever  and  ever.  Why,  indeed,  should 
it  stop  ? 

And  then  the  conviction  that  stoppage  is  inevitable,  is  immi- 
nent, and  that  it  may  well  mean — death. 

All  that,  not  in  a  succession  of  impressions,  but  in  one  long- 
drawn  lightning  flash,  like  the  flash  of  the  flying  brute,  only 
faster. 

Ursula  looked  up  once  at  Van  Helmont.  His  face  was  carved 
in  bronze  ;  his  arms  were  straining  back  ;  his  feet  had  bent  out 
the  splash-board.  In  another  moment  it  burst  away  from  them 
in  a  wide  crash  of  splinters,  and  threw  him  forward,  silent  still. 
He  righted  himself  with  a  jerk,  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  horse 


110  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

had  received  a  new  impetus  from  the  slackening  even  of  that 
illusory  hold.  She  swept  the  ground  from  under  her  as  the  tall 
■wheels  appeared  to  stop  revolving,  in  a  constant  blaze  of  star- 
light. Ursula  fancied,  from  the  height  where  she  clung,  that 
their  progress  carried  with  it  a  crimson  glow  through  the  swift- 
ly receding  dust.  But  it  was  all  so  short,  though  it  seemed 
eternity,  and  yet  she  remembers,  this  very  day,  each  sensation 
that  rose  and  sank  across  her  brain.  Her  hat  was  gone ;  her 
hair  was  flying.  One  minute  of  that  wild,  mad  stress,  and 
then — 

"  I  must  save  you,"  said  Otto.     "  Don't  mind  how." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  she  suddenly  remembered  that  the  canal 
lay  straight  athwart  their  course.  The  canal,  not  level  with  the 
road,  not  clear,  but  fifteen  feet  lower,  at  the  bottom  of  a  stone 
embankment  and  landing-place  for  barges.  The  blood  grew 
cold  in  her  veins.  During  the  brief  frenzy  of  her  alarm,  the 
thought  of  the  canal  had  not  as  much  as  occurred  to  her.  It 
had  been  with  Otto  from  the  first. 

And — even  as  he  spoke — the  violet  line  of  the  horizon  deep- 
ened upon  her  eyes,  where  the  white  road  struck  dead  against 
fields  on  the  farther  side.  It  turned  at  a  right  angle  there,  as 
she  knew  but  too  well,  along  the  water. 

"  It's  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  keep  her  head  straight,"  said 
Otto,  almost  in  a  whisper.  "  Another  minute,  and  it  will  be  too 
late  !  Ursula,  can  you  help  hold  the  reins  for  a  moment  with- 
out risk  of  falling  out  ?" 

"  Yes !"  she  cried,  vehemently,  angry  that  he  had  not  asked 
her  five  minutes  sooner.     For  so  the  time  seemed  to  her. 

"  It's  only  for  a  moment,"  he  continued,  "  we've  got  beyond 
the  side  ditches  now.''''  She  saw  that  he  was  using  the  one  hand 
he  had  freed  to  draw  something  from  his  trousers-pocket.  Her 
grasp  closed,  near  his  other  hand,  on  the  reins  :  she  thought 
that  her  arms  were  being  drawn  from  their  sockets,  but  she  bit 
her  white  lips  and  held  on.  He  knelt,  as  well  as  he  could,  on 
the  carriage  mat,  bending  over  the  broken  splash-board,  and  she 
saw  that  he  held  a  heavy  revolver  in  his  bleeding  right  hand. 
The  glove  was  torn  to  ribbons. 

"  The  instant  I  fire,  drop  the  reins,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  and 


FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH  111 

liold  on  to  tlie  cart  for  dear  life.  It's  our  only  chance.  God 
help  me  ;  we  can't — are  you  ready  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  staring  eyes. 

He  had  spoken  the  last  question  abruptly.  In  the  still  even- 
ing the  line  of  the  embankment  already  stood  out.  They  were 
whirling  towards  it. 

Again  he  bent  forward,  and  fired.  The  shot  missed,  and  as 
the  report  thundered  around  her  and  the  reins  fell  loose  on  her 
sides,  the  mare  seemed  to  rise  into  the  air  with  the  fierceness  of 
her  flight. 

Immediately  a  second  flash  followed  the  first ;  the  horse 
leaped  up  with  a  strain  that  snapped  the  shafts  like  two  twigs, 
then  fell,  struck  behind  the  right  ear,  a  dead  weight  in  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

Ursula,  in  dropping  the  reins  as  commanded,  had  flung  her 
full  weight  on  the  back-rest  behind  her.  For  a  moment  the  dog- 
cart, crashing  forward,  tossed  her  wildly  to  and  fro.  She  saw  Otto 
ejected,  arms  foremost,  clean  away  over  the  dead  mare's  head. 

Another  moment  and  she  was  kneeling  beside  him.  Horse 
and  cart  lay  a  confused  mass  of  harness  and  broken  wood. 

She  had  nothing  at  hand  to  help  him.  She  could  do  noth- 
ing. She  looked  round  wildly,  vainly.  Not  being  a  hysterical 
maiden,  she  did  not  make  up  her  mind  he  must  be  dead.  But 
she  knew  he  was  insensible,  and  the  extent  of  his  injuries  she 
was  quite  unable  to  determine. 

She  looked  down  at  his  resolute  face,  bronzed  beneath  its 
heavy  mustache,  and  realized,  quite  newly,  how  good  he  was, 
how  strong;  this  silent  man  who  had  seen  so  much  of  the  world ; 
this  simple  man,  whom  her  noble -hearted  father  so  greatly 
praised.  The  thought  of  Gerard  flashed  across  her,  Gerard, 
the  beau  ideal  of  her  girlhood,  all  glory  and  glitter,  a  Stage- 
Baldur  with  the  footlights  out.  How  she  longed  for  Otto  to 
open  those  calm,  blue  eyes.  She  prayed  confusedly,  with  un- 
moved stare,  looking  back  along  the  lonely  road  for  help. 

Then  she  got  up  and  hurried  away  to  the  side  of  the  em- 
bankment, shudderingly  realizing  how  near  it  was.  She  could 
not  help  leaving  him.  She  was  much  shaken,  yet  she  felt  quite 
strong. 


112  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

There  was  a  barge  moored  by  the  little  quay  ;  a  woman 
stood  on  its  deck,  startled  and  staring.  She  called  to  the 
woman,  who  came  running  up  the  stone  steps. 

"  Is  there  no  man  ?"  cried  Ursula. 

"  No,  the  men  were  gone  to  the  nearest  public-house." 

The  girl  waved  off  the  barge  -  woman's  inquiries.  She  did 
not  want  sympathy,  but  help. 

"  You  must  hurry  to  the  Horst,"  she  said,  impatiently.  "  You 
know  it?  The  large  house  behind  those  trees.  They  will  pay 
you.  You  must  explain  that  an  accident  has  occurred,  not 
fatal.     And  bring  back  assistance  at  once." 

She  returned  hastily  to  Otto.  His  eyes  were  open,  and  they 
smiled  to  welcome  her.  A  terrible  anxiety  suddenly  died  out 
of  them. 

"Are  you  not  hurt?"  he  said,  faintly.  "I'm  not.  I  shall 
get  up  presently." 

She  could  not  answer  except  by  a  shake  of  the  head.  A 
lump  had  risen  in  her  throat  which  she  was  resolved  to  keep 
down. 

"  How  sorry  Gerald  will  be !"  continued  Otto. 

She  nodded  again,  and  for  a  few  minutes  they  were  both 
quite  silent.     Then  the  Jonker  raised  himself  on  one  arm. 

"  I  am  only  dizzy,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  all  right  in  no  time, 
I  assure  you.  I'm  sorry  I  frightened  you.  Why,  there  are 
some  people  coming  along,  are  there  not  ?" 

It  was  true ;  the  men  from  the  cottages  could  be  seen  run- 
ning towards  them.  Otto  hesitated,  as  he  sank  back,  gazing 
up  into  Ursula's  bent  face. 

"  Ursula,"  he  said  at  last,  calling  her  by  her  name  for  the 
second  time  in  the  course  of  that  evening,  "  we  very  nearly 
went  to  our  death  together  —  and  you  wouldn't  even  go  to 
Java !" 

There  was  a  ripple  in  his  voice  and  in  his  eyes.  She  held 
out  her  hand,  and  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  You  have  saved  my  life,"  she  said. 

Presently  the  foremost  runner  reached  them,  breathing  heavily. 
Otto  staggered  to  his  feet,  and,  as  the  others  came  up,  began 
giving  orders  about  the  wreck  and  the  poor  dead  beast. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A    SATISFACTORY    SETTLEMENT 

"  Ursula,"  began  the  Domine,  with  shaking  voice.  He  went 
back  to  the  door  and  pressed  his  hand  against  it  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  properly  closed.  "  My  dear  child,  I  have  Otto 
van  Helmont  with  rae  in  the  study.  I  am  utterly  amazed ;  I 
don't  know  what  to  say.  You  will  be  more  astonished  even 
than  I  am.  The  Jonker  has  come  to  ask  my  permission — 
God  bless  my  soul,  Ursula,  he  wants  to  have  you  for  his 
wife !"      . 

Ursula  bent  over  her  needle-work;  she  was  sewing  buttons  on 
her  father's  shirts. 

The  Domine  sat  down  opposite  her  and  gasped.  "  It  takes 
my  breath  away,"  he  explained,  apologetically.  "  He  calls  it 
love  at  first  sight.  I  should  think  so.  I  should  call  it  love 
at  single  sight,  and  so  I  told  him." 

Ursula  looked  up  quickly.  "  Oh  no,"  she  said,  "  we  have 
met  quite  a  number  of  times." 

"  Why,  you  hussy,  do  you  want  me  to  accept  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  say  that,  papa.  Please  don't  say  I  said 
anything  of  the  kind.     I  only  meant — " 

"  I  know  what  you  meant.  Why,  you  hussy,  do  you  wnnt 
me  to  refuse  him  ?" 

"You  know  best,  papa,"  said  Ursula,  demurely. 

"  Then,  of  course,  I  shall  send  him  about  his  business.  Im- 
agine the  thing.  The  future  Baroness  van  Helmont,  and  my  child 
Ursula !" 

"  I  am  not  such  a  child,"  replied  Ursula,  blushing  and  draw- 
ing herself  up. 

"  Consider,  my  dear,  the  match  would  be  an  ill-assorted  one. 


114  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Personally,  I  cannot  say  I  look  upon  it — no,  I  won't  say  that, 
either.  But,  dear  me,  dear  me ;  I  am  quite  taken  aback. 
Ursula,  my  dear,  what  is  your  attitude  ?" 

"Oh,  I  haven't  got  an  attitude,"  cried  Ursula,  strenuously 
threading  her  needle.  "  Oh,  don't  say  another  word  about  it, 
please.     Go  away,  dear  Captain,  do,  and  leave  me  in  peace." 

"  But,  Ursula,  this  is  childish.     Otto—" 

Suddenly,  while  he  was  speaking,  the  Domine's  brow  cleared; 
he  thought  he  understood  the  situation.  It  turned  upon  his 
selfishness  and  his  daughter's  self-denial. 

"  Ursula,"  he  said,  "  you  must  forgive  your  poor  old  iather. 
I  am  selfish,  and  of  course  there  are  difficulties.  But  I  see  that 
Otto  van  Helmont  has  somehow  already  succeeded  in  gaining 
your  heart,  so  I  suppose  I  must  go  back  and  tell  him  so.  Or 
would  you  prefer  to  do  it  yourself  ?" 

"  Don't,  father,"  cried  Ursula.  "  Nobody  has  ever  possessed 
my  heart  but  you.  I  hate  all  men,  as  I  said  the  other  day.  See 
how  I  liked  and  admired  Gerard — for  years,  ever  since  I  could 
think — and  now !  I  could  almost  have  cut  off  the  fingers  his 
touch  had  soiled !     I  don't  want  to  marry  any  one." 

"  How  beautiful,"  thought  the  Domine,  not  without  a  twinge 
of  self-condolence,  "  are  the  unconscious  workings  of  a  maiden's 
heart.  The  dear  child  lays  bare  her  love  and  doesn't  know  she 
possessed  it !  It  is  my  duty  to  prevent  a  most  fatal  mistake. 
Poor  motherless  one  ;  I  must  take  a  mother's  place  to-day  !" 
Like  many  old-fashioned  people,  the  Domine  believed  that  when 
"  a  good  woman  "  says  she  doesn't  love  a  man,  this  alwai/s  means 
she  does.     So  he  abstained  from  useless  questions. 

"  Ursula,"  he  said,  heroically,  "  Otto  van  Helmont  is  not  one 
of  these  men  you  dread.  Dear  child,  I  know  him  well.  He  is 
a  good  and  upright  gentleman.  I  should  be  glad  to  think,  my 
dear" — the  Domine  flung  himself  headlong  upon  the  altar — 
"glad  to  think  that  when  I  am  gone  my  daughter  will  have 
such  a  strong  defender.  The  world  is  evil,  dear,  and  I  am  old. 
At  any  moment  I  may  leave  you  unprotected." 

She  laid  down  her  needle-work,  and  sat  looking  out  of  the 
window. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  love  him,"  she  said,  slowly.     "  Not  like 


A    SATISFACTORY    SETTLEMENT  115 

you."  Something  in  her  solemn  face  filled  him  with  sudden 
misgiving,  although  the  last  three  words  were  reassuring. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  he  suggested,  gently,  "  you  admire  him  very 
much — do  you  not?     You  think  he  is  a  splendid  man  ?" 

*'  Yes,"  she  answered,  still  with  that  far-away  look,  "  I  ad- 
mire him  very  much.  I  think  he  is  a  splendid  man.  I — I  like 
to  see  him,  father,  and  to  hear  him  talk." 

^' Trust  me,  my  dear  child,  you  are  very  much  in  love  with 
him,"  said  the  Domine,  sententiously,  "  as  much  as  any  maiden 
ought  to  be.     Go  in  and  tell  him  so." 

She  was  willing  to  believe  him ;  still,  she  hesitated.  Up- 
permost in  her  heart,  all  these  days,  was  a  passion  of  pure 
scorn.  It  cast  over  Otto's  honest  figure  the  glory  of  an  au- 
reole. 

*'  Father,"  she  began  again,  "  do  you — would  you  really  be 
happy  to  know  I  had  accepted  him  ?" 

*'  You  could  not  easily  find  a  better  husband,"  replied  the 
Domine,  evasively. 

She  knitted  her  brows,  as  was  her  wont  in  moments  such  as 
this. 

"It  would  not  make  you  sad,  but  happy,"  she  insisted. 

"  Sad — no,  no,"  cried  the  Domine,  eagerly.  "  To  think  of  it 
—sad !" 

"  But — Java  ?"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  My  dear,  you  will  not  go  to  Java,"  exclaimed  the  Domine, 
very  loud.  "  That  you  must  tell  him  at  once.  You  will  stay 
in  Holland.     I  may  be  very  selfish,  but  I  don't  care." 

He  suddenly  felt  there  were  limits. 

Ursula  rose. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  softly,  *'  I  must  go  to  him  myself.  "  It  is  a 
very  terrible  resolve." 

The  Domine  smiled,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye. 

"  '  It  is  ever  from  the  greatest  hazards,'  "  he  quoted,  "  *  that 
the  greatest  honors  are  gained.'  Pericles  said  that.  It  is  a 
good  motto  for  this  day." 

Ursula  went  straight  to  the  study,  where  Otto  was  tramp- 
ing up  and  down.  His  face  brightened  as  he  saw  her 
enter. 


116  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Are  yoa  bringmg  me  the  answer  yourself  ?"  he  asked,  com- 
ing forward  with  outstretched  hands. 

"You  saved  my  life,"  she  replied,  simply.     *'  It  is  yours." 

"  Josine,"  said  the  Domine,  "  are  you  well  enough  to  listen  to 
me  for  a  moment?"  He  spoke  with  unmistakable  impatience, 
eying  the  limp  bundle  on  the  sofa. 

"Roderigue,  how  can  you  be  so  unkind  ?"  came  the  plaintive 
answer.  "  After  the  terrible  escape  our  dear  Ursula  has  had, 
ray  weak  nerves  are  still  naturally  unstrung.  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  it.  All  night  I  seemed  rushing  through  space  with  her 
and — him.     What  must  he  not  have  suffered  ?" 

"  Well,  it's  over  now,"  replied  the  Domine,  "  and  he's  think- 
ing of  other  things.  In  fact,  that's  what  I  came  in  about.  He 
has  just  been  asking  me  to  consent  to  his  engagement." 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Miss  Mopius,  and  sank  back  on  the  sofa- 
cushion. 

The  Domine  started.  "What!"  he  cried.  "Did  he  speak 
to  you  first?" 

"  Roderigue,"  replied  the  lady,  with  spirit,  "  I  am  old  enough 
— I  mean  I  am  not  so  young  that  his  speaking  to  me  could  be 
considered  improper." 

"  No,  indeed,"  began  the  puzzled  Domine. 

"  I  gave  him  the  answer  of  my  heart,  as  I  doubt  not  he  told 
you.     You  will  give  us  your  blessing,  my  brother?" 

The  Domine  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Hearing  you  talk,"  he  said,  testily,  "  one  might  conclude  it 
was  you  had  made  the  match." 

At  this  monstrous  accusation  the  poor  creature  burst  into  tears. 
"  To  think,"  she  sobbed,  "  that  my  poor  Mary'3  husband  should 
say  such  a  thing  of  me.  Roderigue,  I  wonder  that  dear  saint 
did  not  teach  you  what  a  woman's  feelings  are  !" 

Of  all  means  by  which  Josine  unconsciously  tormented  the 
pastor  there  was  none  like  her  allusions  to  his  departed  wife. 
Moments  could  be  produced  in  the  widower's  calm  day  when 
that  brave  soldier  might  have  felt  it  in  him  to  strike  a  woman. 

Only  to  slap  her. 

"Well,  I  can't  help   it,"  he  said,  still   in  the   same   irritated 


A    SATISFACTORY    SETTLEMENT  117 

tone.  He  was  disappointed  in  his  future  son-in-law.  "Ursula 
and  Otto  must  just  settle  it  between  them." 

"  Ursula  is  a  cliild,"  replied  the  spinster.  "  She  will  be 
pleased  to  get  so  charming  an  uncle." 

"  Hey  ?"  said  the  pastor,  stopping  very  short.  Then  it  all 
dawned  upon  him  as  when  a  curtain  is  drawn  away. 

"  Otto  has  asked  Ursula  to  marry  him,  and  she  has  con- 
sented," he  said,  gruffly.  For  some  forms  of  human  weakness 
the  man  had  not  an  atom  of  pity.  Poor  Miss  Mopius  received 
the  blow  straight  in  her  face.  She  "  never  forgave "  her 
brother  afterwards  for  striking  out.  Striking  a  woman, 
after  all. 

She  rose  to  the  occasion,  sitting  up  at  once,  tremulous  but 
dignified. 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  she  said.  "  You  have  misunder- 
stood or  /  have  been  duped.  In  one  case  the  man  is  a  fool ;  in 
the  other  he  is  a  villain.  No  gentleman  makes  love  to  two 
women  at  a  time.  I  will  thank  you  to  leave  me  alone  for  the 
present,  Roderigue." 

"  So  be  it,  Josine,"  answered  the  Domine,  "  but,  remember,  it 
was  Will-be-Will  made  darkness  in  the  town  of  Mansoul." 
Then  his  heart  smote  him  for  too  great  severity.  "  My  dear," 
he  said,  in  a  kindly  voice,  "  it  is  the  old  story  with  us  all.  Still 
Prince  Emmanuel  answers  Mr.  Loth-to-Stoop :  '  I  will  not 
grant  your  master,  no,  not  the  least  corner  to  dwell  in.  I  will 
have  all  to  myself.'  " 

When  the  last  uncertainty  had  faded  from  Miss  Mopius's 
soul,  she  merely  said  to  Ursula,  "  He  might  be  your  father. 
/  don't  think  it's  nice  for  a  young  girl  to  marry  an  old 
man." 

Ursula  did  not  reply  "  For  an  old  woman  to  marry  a  young 
man  is  worse."  She  only  thought  it.  We  can  all  be  mag- 
nanimous in  victory.  But  Ursula  could  even  have  been  so,  if 
required,  in  defeat.     Her  faults  were  never  little  ones. 

To  her  confidential  spinster  friends  Miss  Mopius  remarked, 
"She  is  very  plain.  I  can't  imagine  what  he  sees  in  her.  So 
brown !     But,  then,  of  course,  he  is  past  the  heyday  of  youth, 


118  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

and  a  little  «w.     Well,  some  women  like  to  get  their  lovers 
second-hand. 

"  I  shouldn't,"  remarked  one  mittened  crony. 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Miss  Mopius. 


CHAPTER  XT 

DOn^A   E   MOBILE 

Ox  the  Satoidaj  f olloiring  ihe  Van  Tkuwaito*  garden-pnty — 
two  dajs,  therefore,  prerionsljr  to  tibe  erents  just  namted — 
Gerard  Tan  Hefanont  ealled  in  the  earl j  moniiiig  at  tiie  house 
of  his  betrothed.  He  could  hardly  realize,  as  he  impatieiitlf 
awaited  her,  that  not  twentj-fonr  hoars  had  eh^sed  siiee  this 
new  brightness  had  come  into  his  life.  Alreadj  he  fdt  ae- 
costomed  to  the  new  rdle  of  a  Terj  wealthy  man  with  a  TCfj 
charming  wife.  How  happy  his  mother  would  be  after  the  first 
shock  of  the  unexpected !  They  must  find  another  match  for 
Otto.  Sprightly,  sportive  Helena  would  never  have  married 
Otto,  anyway.  He  glanced  at  the  clock.  Half-past  ten.  As 
long  as  clocks  stood  in  front  of  mirrors  Gerard  ncrer  saw  only 
the  time. 

The  door  opened ;  a  seirant  entered  slowly. 

"  The  Freule  was  not  ready,  as  yet,  to  receive  him."  Had 
she  sent  him  no  message  !  •*  Xo.**  The  fiery  lover  went  off  to 
the  barracks  and  worried  everybody. 

In  the  afternoon  he  called  again.  The  sounds  of  a  piano 
came  pouring  down  upon  him  from  up-stairs  daring  his  bii^ 
wait  on  the  steps.  How  brilliantly  she  played !  A  little  too 
wildly — ^like  a  musical  tornado. 

He  was  again  shown  into  the  front  drawing-room.  It  was 
again  empty.  Again  he  paced  restlessly  to  and  firo,  bat  this 
time  he  twisted  his  mustache. 

He  heard  a  footfall  in  the  adjoining  apartment ;  the  mufflc, 
however,  had  not  yet  stopped.  He  was  longing  for  it,  now,  to 
do  so. 

The  Baroness  van  Trossait  came  bustling  in,  hot  and  flurried. 


120  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  began — "my  dear  boy,  sit  down."  She 
caught  hold  of  his  hand  and  drew  him  down  on  a  low  settee  by 
her  side.  "  My  dear  boy,  you  and  Helena  have  had  a  quarrel. 
The  worst  quarrels  always  come  first.  Now  tell  me  what  it  is 
all  about." 

Gerard  opened  his  light,  innocent  eyes.  "  There  has  been  no 
quarrel  that  I  know  of,  Mevrouw,"  he  answered.  "  What  does 
Helena  say  ?" 

The  Baroness's  substantial  chaps  fell.  *'  Helena  says  nothing 
at  all.  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  She  has  locked  herself  in,  and 
she  won't  speak  to  any  one.  She  lias  been  playing  the  piano 
for  hours — you  hear  her  now — and  her  uncle  trying  all  the  time 
to  learn  his  speech  for  next  Monday  !  I've  been  screaming  to 
make  her  stop,  but  I  can't,  and  I  got  some  dust  in  my  eye,  as 
it  is,  through  the  key-hole."  She  sighed.  Gerard,  with  height- 
ened color,  looked  down  at  his  spurs. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  what's  wrong  ?"  the  Baroness  re- 
peated, helplessly. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  don't." 

"  The  excitement  must  have  got  on  her  nerves ;  but  I  wish, 
at  least,  she  would  see  Papotier." 

They  went  out  slowly  into  the  hall.  "  Never  mind,  Gerard," 
said  the  Baroness,  still  in  that  ill-used  tone,  "  it  '11  be  all  right 
soon.  Come  back  this  evening  and  settle  about  going  to  the 
Horst  to-morrow.     Oh,  will  that  music  never  stop  !" 

It  followed  him  down  the  street  in  a  reckless  jingle  and  crash 
of  feverish  discord,  as  if  all  the  notes  of  the  instrument  to- 
gether were  dancing  a  devil's  saraband. 

He  went  to  the  club,  and,  from  sheer  nervous  vexation,  bois- 
terously got  together  a  game  of  vingt-et-un.  He  won  nearly  a 
thousand  florins  in  a  couple  of  hours.  As  a  rule,  however, 
gambling  was  not  one  of  his  weaknesses.  He  had  plenty  of 
others. 

Then  he  treated  the  whole  mess  to  champagne,  declaring  it 
•was  his  birthday,  and  when  somebody  denied  that,  he  turned 
almost  fiercely  on  the  caviller.  "  My  death-day,  then  !"  he  said. 
"  It  don't  make  any  difference  in  the  wine." 

They  were  all  surprised  at  his  irritability,  and  concluded  that 


DONNA    6    MOBILE  121 

the  extent  of  his  winnings  was  vexing  him.  That  would  be 
quite  like  Yan  Helmont,  who  was  free-handed  and  free-hearted 
to  a  fault.     He  was  the  most  popular  man  in  the  regiment. 

It  was  half-past  eight  when  he  again  rang  at  the  Van  Tros- 
sarts'  door.  He  was  flushed  with  excitement  and  champagne. 
The  piano  had  ceased ;  the  whole  house  lay  steeped  in  silence. 
Almost  immediately,  as  he  hesitated  under  the  hall-lamp,  the 
Freule's  maid  came  forward  with  a  note.  He  took  it  and  glanced 
through  it  on  the  spot.     It  was  very  brief : 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  Maupassant ;  all  night  I  sat  up  reading 
him.  Go  back  to  the  house-maid.  Thank  Heaven,  Jeanne  is 
not  married  yet." 

He  went  out  again  into  the  dusk  immediately.  Dutch  shops 
are  open  late,  especially  on  Saturdays.  He  walked  quickly  to 
the  High  Street,  which  was  full  of  movement  and  yellow  gas. 
At  a  well-known  bookseller's  he  stopped. 

"  Have  you  Maupassant's  line  Vie  f  he  asked  the  shopman. 
Oh  yes !  half  a  dozen  copies  lay  on  the  counter.  He  carried 
off  the  blue  paper  volume,  and  locked  himself  up  in  his  rooms. 

Turning  the  pages  hurriedly,  he  read  the  painful  story.  Even 
as  he  read,  he  revolted  at  the  thought  of  his  cousin's  having 
come  into  contact  with  such  scenes  as  were  there  described. 
He  flung  the  book  on  to  the  table.  "  Filth  !"  he  said,  angrily. 
He  felt  that  a  woman's  soul  may  pass  pure,  if  such  be  her  terri- 
ble fate,  through  fact,  but  not  through  fiction.  And  surely  he 
was  right.     A  man  can  judge  of  purity,  in  women. 

The  work  he  admiringly  despised  was  like  all  those  of  its 
great  author,  though  by  no  means  equal,  of  course,  in  literary 
value,  t^  his  shorter  masterpieces.  It  was  a  perfectly  polished 
crystal  goblet — a  splendor  of  workmanship — full  of  asafoetida. 
Few  men  care  for  the  taste,  which  might  be  healthful,  but  we  all 
enjoy  the  useless  smell. 

Somebody  whistled  outside  in  the  street.  He  went  to  the 
window.  Two  young  officers,  attracted  by  the  light  of  his 
lamp,  stood  in  the  dark  with  upturned  faces.  His  heart  leaped 
with  its  impulse  of  relief. 


122  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Is  that  you,  Troy  ?"  lie  called  back.  "  Who's  with  you  ? 
Never  mind,  I'll  come  down.  I  say,  there's  a  night-train  to 
Brussels !  We've  just  time  to  catch  it.  The  chief  '11  never 
know,  and  we'll  have  such  a  burst-up  as  never  was  before  !" 

On  the  Monday  morning  in  the  small  hours  Gerard  returned 
from  his  escapade  into  Belgium.  The  others,  who  still  valued 
their  commissions,  had  refused  to  accompany  him.  He  had 
left  a  telegram  with  Willie  for  the  Horst,  to  the  effect  that 
Helena  was  unable  to  come.  "  The  Colonel  won't  be  any  wiser," 
he  said.     And  the  Colonel  never  was. 

Whether  the  excursion  had  been  worth  its  cost — in  every 
sense — was  another  matter.  Such  questions  are  useless,  and 
Gerard  preferred  not  to  decide  them.  He  lay  down  on  his  bed 
for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then — before  breakfast,  somewhere 
near  seven  o'clock — he  paid  a  visit  to  a  lady  of  his  acquaint- 
ance whom  he  had  not  seen  for  many  months.  He  had  a  bad 
headache,  and  he  felt  deeply  injured,  but  also  distinctly  inclined 
to  indignation  and  virtue. 

"Adeline,"  he  said,  pathetically,  "I  thought  you  still  loved 
me." 

"  What  a  fool  you  must  be  then,"  said  Adeline.  She  lived  in 
a  little  out-of-the-way  house,  with  a  garden  and  a  back  entrance. 
No  one  was  more  accurately  acquainted  than  Gerard  with  her 
periods  of  business  or  leisure. 

"  Better  fool  than  knave,"  replied  Gerard,  bitterly.  "  But 
don't  let's  go  on  like  this.  What  I  wanted  to  tell  you  is  that 
our  secret 's  out.     There." 

*'  I  know,"  said  Adeline,  nodding.  She  sat  in  her  neat  little 
tight-fitting  dress  in  her  neat  little  (tight-fitting)  room,  with  her 
breakfast  in  front  of  her.  It  was  all  dainty  and  attractive.  He 
had  seen  her  sit  thus  many  a  time,  while  he  lounged  on  the  lit- 
tle chintz  sofa. 

"  I  told,"  added  Adeline,  proudly,  biting  a  stiff  crust  with  her 
pearly  teeth. 

"  You  !"     He  sprang  upright.     "  You  lie  1" 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  she  answered,  "  I  was  to  sit  and  see  you  en- 
joy yourself,  while  I  went  to  my  ruin.     I  was  to  let  you  write 


DONNA    E    MOBILE  123 

letters  to  my  advertisements  and  then  bring  other  men  to  laugh 
at  me»"  Her  voice  grew  suddenly  fierce.  "  I  hate  you  for  that," 
she  cried,  "  for  that  most  of  all.     I  could  kill  you  for  that." 

"  Good  heavens !  was  one  of  those  unlucky  advertisements 
yours  ?  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  answering  them,  I  swear  to 
you.  I  was  only  umpire.  Why,  surely,  you'd  have  recognized 
my  hand !" 

"  Humph,"  said  Adeline.     "  Well,  I  told." 

"  It  was  a  woman's  trick,  retorted  Gerard.  "  But  how  did 
you  find  out,  you  little  devil,  about  the  Freule  van  Trossart,  or 
about  my — my — " 

"  Your  what  ?"  she  questioned,  sharply.  "  What's  this  about 
the  Freule  van  Trossart  ?  You're  going  to  make  her  miserable, 
are  you,  as  you  did  me  ?"  She  started  up,  clapping  her  hands. 
*'  No,  you  won't,"  she  cried.  "  No,  you  won't.  I  see.  He's 
gone  and  told  her  all  about  it.     Oh,  I  love  him  for  that !" 

"  Who  ?  He  !"  exclaimed  Gerard.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you've  gone  noising  our  shame  about  to  strangers  ?" 

The  words  stung  her  to  sudden  passion. 

"  Our  shame  ?"  she  cried.  "  Our  shame  ?  My  shame,  you 
mean.  My  shame,  as  Christian  laws  go  in  Christian  lands. 
And  who  are  you,  of  all  men,  to  taunt  me  with  it?  I  told  your 
brother,  if  you  want  to  know.  And  he  went  and  told  the  girl 
you  were  trying  to  catch,  did  he  ?  Oh,  I'm  glad  of  that ;  I'm 
glad  of  that !" 

Gerard  sat  for  some  moments  with  bent  brows  and  clinched 
fists.  His  still  stare  frightened  her.  She  sank  into  her  seat 
cowed. 

"  How  did  you  meet  my  brother  ?"  he  asked,  at  last.  His 
voice  was  hoarse. 

"  You  passed  the  shop  with  him  one  morning,"  she  answered, 
humbly.  "  I  recognized  him  by  your  description.  And  when 
going  to  my  dinner  later  on,  I  met  him  in  the  Park  alone.  I 
told  him  everything  in  half  a  dozen  minutes.  That  day  I  was 
desperate.  I  asked  him  if  he  could  do  nothing  to  help  me  to 
make  you  marry  me.  I  had  some  wild  idea  your  family  might. 
I  had  never  come  across  any  of  them.  I  probably  never  should 
have  such  a  chance  again." 


124  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  And  what  did  my  brother  say  ?"  asked  Gerard. 

*'  He  said  he  would  do  what  he  could.  lie  didn't  think  he 
could  do  much.  I  don't  think  he  likes  you,  Gerard."  She 
spoke  quite  submissively,  and,  as  she  finished,  her  eyes  stole 
across  to  the  looking-glass  to  arrange  a  little  bow  at  her  neck. 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  Gerard,  furiously.  "  He's  too  good  to  like 
me.     His  little  peccadilloes  are  far  away,  and  black." 

**  I'm  sure  Tve  always  liked  you,  Gerard,"  she  said,  coquet- 
tishly.    "  You've  treated  me  very  badly.     You  know  you  have." 

**  I  have,"  acquiesced  Gerard,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Did  you  tell 
Otto,  Adeline,  of  those  three  thousand  florins  I  gave  you  ?" 

"  No,"  she  cried,  again  reverting  to  her  sudden  passion. 
*'  Do  you  fling  that  fact  in  my  face  ?  Do  you  call  that  a  com- 
pensation ?" 

"  No,  no.  God  knows  I  didn't  mean  anything  of  the  kind. 
I  was  only  thinking — great  heavens,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  !" 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Poor  Gerard,"  said  the  girl,  softly,  after  an  interval.  "  I 
didn't  think  you'd  take  on  so.  But  you've  treated  me  very  bad- 
ly, Gerard ;  you  know  you  have ;  yet,  somehow,  I  can't  help 
liking  you  still.  You  were  very  good  to  me,  too,  once.  And  it 
was  very  sweet."  She  bent  forward  and  timidly  touched  his 
neck.     "  Gerard,  I'm  sorry,"  she  said. 

But  he  only  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  Gerard,  I  was  so  wretched,  so  fearfully  wretched.  I 
couldn't  stand  the  thought  of — of  the  disgrace.  I  wanted  you 
to  marry  me.  I  would  have  given  my  life  for  you  to  marry  me 
— only  to  make  an  honest  woman  of  me  first.  Gerard,  think  of 
it,  there  was  nothing  left  for  me  but  marriage,  exposure,  or 
death.  I  tried  death  once — with  my  fingers— ^but — but  the  wa- 
ter was  so  very  cold."  She  began  to  cry  softly,  resting  her 
hand  on  her  quondam  lover's  knee. 

Then  Gerard  looked  up  quickly.  His  face  was  quite  pale 
and  drawn. 

"  Adeline,"  he  said,  wearily,  "  it's  no  use,  you  and  I  can't  be 
angry  with  each  other.  Not  seriously,  only  in  flimsy  bursts. 
It's  like  our  love.  AVe  can't  hate  each  other,  either.  Great 
love  turns  to  hate,  they  say.     Ours  is  of  the  kind  that  one  can 


I 


DONNA    t    MOBILE  125 

always  take  up  again  as  if  one  had  never  left  off.  You've 
ruined  my  life,  and,  somehow,  I  can't  even  reproach  you  with 
doing  so." 

"  But  you've  ruined  mine,  too,  or  very  nearly,"  she  sobbed. 

"  Yes,  that's  true  ;  I  don't  want,  though,  to  make  you  so 
wretched.  You  shock  me  with  your  horrible  talk.  Adeline, 
look  here,  I  don't  care;  if  you  feel  as  bad  as  that  I'll  marry  you. 
Yes,  I  will,  so  help  me  God.  You're  the  onl^  woman  that  ever 
loved  me,  besides  my  mother,  and  I've  treated  you  like  a  brute. 
We  men  don't  always  quite  understand,  but,  Adeline,  I  can't  bear 
to  see  you  wretched,  and  to  know  it's  all  my  fault.  It  is  all 
my  fault ;  I've  behaved  like  a  cad.  Adeline,  I  mean  it ;  I'm 
awfully  sorry  and  ashamed  of  myself.  I'll  tell  my  father  ex- 
actly how  matters  stand,  and  I'll  7nake  him  let  me  marry  you. 
You  poor  little  innocent,  to  think  that  they'^d  make  me ./" 

Adeline,  for  only  answer,  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder, 
softly  crying  on. 

"  Don't  cry  like  that,  dear,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  dreary 
tone.  "  It  '11  all  come  right  soon.  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  fairly 
happy.  We've  made  such  a  mess  of  our  separate  lives  that  the 
best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  try  and  combine  them." 

"  Oh,  Gerard,"  sobbed  the  girl,  "  if  I'd  only  known  a  day  or 
two  sooner.     It's  too  late  now." 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  dully,  stroking  her  hair.  "  I  forgive  you 
the  trick  you  played  me.  I  drove  you  to  it,  I  suppose.  Men 
are  brutes." 

"  Oh,  Gerard,"  murmured  Adeline  again,  with  closed  eyes, 
"  it's  not  that.     I'm  engaged." 

*'  What  ?"  he  cried,  edging  back,  so  that  her  head  almost 
slipped. 

She  started  up  then,  quite  briskly.  "  Well,  and  what  was  I 
to  do  ?"  she  said,  "  with  every  week  bringing  me  nearer.  Other 
people  answered  my  advertisement  besides  you,  Gerard.  And 
he's  a  very  nice  young  man,  a  lawyer's  clerk.  I  was  out  in  the 
country  with  him  all  yesterday,  and  we  settled  it  coming 
home." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Gerard,  scornfully.     "  And  he — he — " 

She  blushed  crimson. 


126  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Yes,  he  knows,"  she  murmured.  "  He  thinks  you  treated 
me  very  badly,  Gerard." 

"I  know." 

And  he  consents,  thought  the  young  man,  to  accept  the  plas- 
ter I  placed  on  the  bruise.  He  got  up  from  the  little  chintz 
sofa  of  many  memories. 

"  I  wish  you  had  waited  to  give  Otto  the  last  chapter  of  the 
story,"  he  said,  very  wearily.  "  Poor  little  girl,  I'm  not  angry 
with  you.  Don't  cry.  We've  had  enough  of  that.  Good-bye, 
Adeline.     I  suppose  we  need  hardly  meet  again. 

And  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Gerard,"  she  said,  taking  it,  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  not  angry. 
I  like  you  very  much,  but,  do  you  know,  I  fancy  I  should  be 
happier  with  him.  He  isn't  as  good-looking  as  you,  Gerard — 
not  anything  like — but  he  looks  very  nice."  She  raised  the 
young  officer's  hand  to  her  lips.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  for 
offering  to  marry  me." 

"  Oh,  no  thanks,"  he  replied,  taking  his  hat. 

"  Gerard !"  she  called  him  back,  her  eyes  reverted  swiftly 
from  the  mirror  to  his  face.  "  You  never  said  anything  about 
my  new  dress  which  I  had  to  make.  Don't  you  think  it  suits 
me  ?" 

"  Oh,  everything  suits  you,"  he  cried,  making  his  escape. 
There  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  turned  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A    FOOL    AND    HIS    FOLLY 

The  dog  gave  a  yelp. 

"Do  take  care,  Otto,"  cried  the  Baroness,  sharply.  Her 
voice  was  shrill  with  irritation.  "  I  wish  you  would  sit  down. 
You  have  trodden  on  poor  Plush's  tail !  And  there  really  was 
no  reason  for  that.  Not  even  if  I  take  in  earnest,  as  1  have  no 
intention  of  doing,  the  exceedingly  poor  joke  you  have  just 
concocted." 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  no  joke,  mother,  but  very  sober  earnest." 

"  I  am  to  believe  that  you  have  this  morning  asked  Ursula 
Rovers  to  be  your  wife,  and  that  she  has  deigned  to  accept  you  ?" 

"  She  has  deigned  to  accept  me,  mother." 

*'  Then  there  are  other  things  you  can  tread  on  besides  little 
dogs."  She  was  too  angry  to  continue.  An  embarrassing  si- 
lence had  thickened  between  them  before  she  added,  looking 
straight  in  front  of  her,  "But  I  shall  not  afford  you  the  satis- 
faction of  a  yelp." 

"  Mother  !"  he  cried,  with  a  pathetic  ring  of  pain  in  his  virile 
voice.     He  held  out  his  arms.     The  movement  was  an  appeal. 

But  she  waved  him  back. 

"  Between  mothers  and  sons,"  she  said,  "  there  is  a  union  of 
sympathy,  of  interest,  not  only  of  intercourse.  Dogs  have 
mothers.  Otto,  and  love  them  and  forget  them.  And  when 
they  meet  again,  after  twelve  weeks — mother  and  son  walk 
side  by  side,  but  the  pup  doesn't  knowy 

She  held  out  her  trembling  fingers  to  the  little  animal  beside 
her. 

"  The  mother  does,"  she  said,  tremulously.  "  The  mother 
does." 


128  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Otto  stood  by  the  Dresden  gimcracks  of  the  mantel-piece. 
His  head  was  bent,  but  across  the  level  eyebrows  lay  a  bar  of 
resolve. 

"  If  you  would  only  let  me  explain — "  he  beganl 

"  Surely  I  can  do  that  for  myself.  You  are  '  in  love '  with 
the  girl,  to  use  the  cant  phrase.  There  is  no  more  beautiful 
word  in  the  world,  and  none  more  insulted.  With  you  it  simply 
means  that  you  have  been  caught  by  the  charms  of  a  piquant 
brown  face.  You,  who  are  nearly  forty,  whose  calf  period 
might  surely  be  past.  Faugh  !  you  men  are  all  the  same,  like 
dogs  again !  You  talk  of  piety,  affection,  ambition,  but  when 
the  moment  comes  you  run  after  the  nearest  cur.  Otto,  I  won't 
say  any  more.  I  have  said  too  much  already.  In  truth,  there 
is  nothing  to  say.  There  is  only  a  curse  to  bear.  Nowadays, 
it  seems,  the  children  curse  the  parents.  It  may  be  less  melo- 
dramatic, but  the  results  are  far  more  visible  to  the  naked  eye." 

Then  he  broke  down  before  her  hard,  her  hopeless  misery,  and 
knelt  by  her  side. 

*'  Mother,  I  love  her,"  he  said.  "  Never  mind  what  the  word 
means  to  me,  it  need  mean  but  little  to  you.  I  will  take  her 
away  to  some  place  where  you  need  but  rarely  see  her." 

"  And  the  Horst !"  she  cried,  looking  at  him  for  the  first  time. 
The  despair  in  her  eyes  cut  straight  to  his  souk  "  You  have 
not  even  thought  of  that !  And  you  hardly  know  the  girl.  The 
old  house — the  old  home — you  have  not  even  thought  of  that !" 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  he  answered,  sternly,  returning  to  his 
place  on  the  hearth.  "  It  is  not  gone  yet.  I  will  work  and 
make  money.     Father  may  still  live  twenty  years." 

But  she  did  not  heed  him.  "  Only  a  good-looking  face  !"  she 
said.  "  Only  half  a  dozen  glimpses  of  a  good-looking  face  and 
— pfst !"  She  snapped  her  fingers.  "  Does  your  father  know  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  answered.  "  I  came  to  you  first.  I  had  hoped 
that  you — " 

*'  Would  join  with  the  happy  pair  in  imploring  his  blessing. 
Did  I  not  say  rightly,  Otto,  that  a  certain  amount  of  mutual  un- 
derstanding is  essential  to  the  preservation  of  natural  ties  !  That 
you  should  succeed  in  making  a  philosopher  of  such  a  crack- 


A    FOOL    AND    HIS    FOLLY  129 

brained  creature  as  I  am !  I  hear  your  father's  step  in  the  en- 
trance-hall. The  poor  fellow  is  whistling  !  Never  mind,  it  can't 
be  helped.     Call  him  in."     Otto  obeyed. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  my  dear?"  asked  the  Baron,  entering.  "Are 
you  still  enjoying  your  new-found  son  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  replied  the  old  lady.  "  Exactly.  My  new- 
found son  still  prepares  me  fresh  surprises.  Otto,  tell  your  fa- 
ther to-day's." 

"  I  have  engaged  myself,"  said  Otto,  steadying  his  voice,  "  to 
Juffrouw  Ursula  Rovers." 

The  Baron's  thin  cheek  flushed.  He  resumed  the  tune  he  had 
been  whistling,  and  carefully  finished  it.  Then  he  said,  "  I  sup- 
pose that  is  quite  definite  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  interposed  the  Baroness, "  a  fool's  decisions  always 
are." 

"  Hush,  ray  dear.  I  mean.  Otto,  that  you  have  fully  consid- 
ered and  weighed  the  matter,  and  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
go  through  with  it  at  all  costs  ?"  The  Baron  spoke  very  qui- 
etly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Otto,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"  So  I  thought.  Your  decision  will  not  be  altered  in  any  way 
by  my  pointing  out  that,  as  long  as  I  live  (which  I  hope  to  do 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century  longer),  you  will  never  receive  a  pen- 
ny from  me  towards  supporting  Ursula  Rovers  ?  You  probably 
understood  that  before  ?" 

"  I  did,"  replied  Otto.  "  I  don't  want  any  money.  I'm  going 
to  work." 

"  Quite  so.     More  tea,  I  suppose  ?     Java  ?" 

Otto's  face  fell. 

"  No,"  he  said,  awkwardly.  "  Not  Java.  Ursula  doesn't  want 
to  go  there." 

The  Baroness,  who  had  been  beating  a  silent  tattoo  with  her 
foot,  broke  into  an  impatient  exclamation. 

"  Really,  Otto,"  said  the  Baron,  with  a  thin  little  smile,  "  you 
must  admit  that  you  are  rather  provoking.  When  everybody 
wants  you  here,  you  insist  upon  living  in  the  tropics,  and  when 
— well,  the  whole  thing,  therefore,  is  settled,  is  it,  and  practi- 
cally beyond  recall  ?      Mistakes,  as  your  mother  just  now  re- 

9 


130  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

marked,  usually  are.  This,  of  course,  is  a  huge  mistake — 
a  life  mistake.  However,  perhaps  you  are  aware  of  that, 
too  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  replied  Otto,  "  in  some  respects.  But  it 
seems  to  me  worth  making." 

"  Possibly.  There  are  no  bounds  to  human  selfishness.  Men 
have  thrown  away  an  empire  for  a  night  of  dalliance.  And  the 
heritage  of  the  Helmonts  is  not  an  empire  by  any  means.  I  am 
sure  I  wish  you  a  more  protracted  period  of  enjoyment.  Then, 
at  least,  one  person  will  get  satisfaction  out  of  this  miserable 
business.  Yes,  as  there  is  no  help  for  it,  I  may  as  well  wish  you 
joy.     Wish  him  joy,  Cecile." 

"  No,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"  Anyhow,  I  suppose  it  won't  make  much  difference  to  you, 
Otto  ?  Nor,  alas,  to  us.  And  now  that  all  the  preliminaries  are 
settled,  and  you  know  our  mind  exactly  and  we  yours — excuse 
my  putting  you  last — we  had  better  swallow  down  the  rest  of 
the  unpleasantness  as  soon  as  possible.  Bring  up  Ursula  at  once, 
and  we  will  give  her  our  blessing.  Bring  her  before  dinner 
if  you  can.  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  had  her  waiting  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. I  will  say  this  :  she  is  a  good-looking  girl,  and,  I 
honestly  believe,  a  good  one.  But  what  a  reason  for  marrying 
her !" 

He  threw  up  his  hands  with  his  familiar  gesture  of  comical 
dismay,  and  turning  his  back  on  his  son  and  heir,  went  and  sat 
down  by  the  Baroness.  Otto  walked  slowly  from  the  room,  leav- 
ing the  old  couple  together. 

The  little  turret-chamber,  all  flowered  silk  and  china  shep- 
herds, looked  strangely  unreal,  like  a  painting  on  porcelain. 
The  light  crept  in  through  its  rounded  window  with  a  curve 
that  lent  to  everything  a  glamour  as  of  glaze.  The  occupants 
themselves,  bending  near  to  each  other,  the  toy-dog  between 
them,  their  delicate  features  still  touched,  as  it  seemed,  with 
eighteenth-century  powder,  had  the  appearance  of  Dresden  fig- 
ures seen  under  a  shiny  glass  case.  But.  their  sorrow  was  very 
real,  none  the  less  so  because  the  Baron  was  endeavoring,  as  it 
buzzed  around  them,  to  catch  and  kill  it  in  the  folds  of  a  cam- 
bric handkerchief. 


A    FOOL    AND    HIS    FOLLY  131 

"  Theodore,"  began  the  Baroness,  twisting  her  rings,  "  you 
are  always  right.  I  do  not  mean  to  doubt  your  judgment. 
But  it  seems  to  me  that  you  ahnost  encouraged  him  to  do 
what  you  disapproved.  You — you  told  him  how  bad  it  was, 
how  wicked,  and  then  you  wished  him  joy." 

"  My  dear,"  replied  the  Baron,  "  you  cannot  push  over  the 
precipice  a  man  who  has  already  leaped.  His  mind  was  made 
up,  and  nothing  would  have  changed  it.  I  know  Otto.  This 
is  just  the  kind  of  idiotic  thing  he  might  be  expected  to  do. 
Some  men  cannot  keep  away  from  any  folly  which  has  an  ap- 
pearance of  elevation.  Their  souls  positively  itch  to  commit 
it,  whether  it  be  useful  or  pleasant  or  not.  Otto  has  always 
been  like  that.  He  is  a  Don  Quixote  of  foolishness.  Had 
Ursula  not  existed,  he  would  have  been  bound  to  invent 
her.". 

"  Unfortunately  she  exists,"  replied  the  Baroness.  "  But  you 
might  have  argued,  protested — " 

"  My  dear,  he  is  thirty-nine.  And  to  argue  with  Don  Quix- 
ote is  to  break  a  straw  against  armor.  There  is  no  strength 
like  the  conviction,  '  the  thing  is  so  utterly  asinine  that  I'm 
sure  it  must  be  right '  ,  especially  when  the  thing  is  also 
pleasant.  Modern  Quixotes  are  not  above  distinguishing 
that." 

"  Oh,  don't  reason  it  out  in  that  quiet  way,"  cried  the  Bar- 
oness, passionately.  "  It's  too  horrible  for  that.  I  can't  bear 
it." 

Her  husband  took  her  hand.  "  Dearest,"  he  asked,  "  since 
when  have  we  left  off  grinning  over  the  things  we  could  not 
bear  ?" 

The  only  answer  was  Plush's  grating  bark,  which  she  always 
started  as  soon  as  the  Baron  grew  affectionate  to  the  Baroness. 

"As  for  quarrels,  they  are  always  a  discomfort,  but  useless 
quarrels  are  a  folly  as  well.  And  a  dispute  with  Otto  would 
soon  develop  into  a  quarrel.  He  knows  what  we  think  without 
further  telling;  be  sure  of  that.  For  Heaven's  sake  let  there 
not  be  a  row.  I  have  not  been  present  at  a  row  since  I  was 
twenty.  Gerard  ran  the  thing  close  the  other  day.  We  may 
just  as  well  treat  Ursula  civilly.     I  only  hope  he  will  bring  her 


132  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

at  once.  The  prospect  makes  me  nervous,  and  I  don't  see  why 
my  dinner  should  be  spoiled  because  my  eldest  son  is  a  fool." 

"  But  Ursula  should  be  made  to  feel — " 

He  interrupted  her,  a  thing  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  doing. 

"  Be  sure  that  Ursula  will  be  made  to  feel,"  he  said,  "  what- 
ever we  do.     Trust  human  nature  for  that." 

"  Had  it  only  been  Gerard,"  she  moaned.  "  And  just  as  I 
had  arranged  about  Helena  !" 

"Ah,  had  it  been  Gerard,  I  should  have  reasoned  with  him. 
Gerard  can  be  made  to  laugh  at  follies,  and  the  man  who  laughs 
can  be  made  to  abandon.  Fool !  Folly  !  You  see,  those  are 
the  only  words  I  am  able  to  think  of.  Answer  a  fool  accord- 
ing to  his  folly.  That  is  excellent  advice.  Moliere's,  is  it  not  ? 
I  tried  to  bring  it  into  practice  to-day." 

"  Deeds  like  his,"  she  said,  "  should  still  be  preventable  by 
lettres  de  cachet.  They  are  worse  than  crimes.  A  name  such 
as  ours  may  be  scotched  by  the  reprobates  who  bear  it,  but  it 
takes  a  fool,  such  as  you  laugh  at,  to  kill  it  outright." 

"  Whom  would  you  lock  up  ?  Ursula  ?  Do  you  know,  I  fancy 
Ursula  is  in  no  way  to  blame.     She  is  really  a  good  little  girl." 

But  the  Baroness  shook  her  head.     The  Baron  i*ose. 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  he  said,  yawning.  "That  is  the 
beginning  and  the  end.  I  wonder  what  Louisa  will  say.  At 
any  rate,  the  house  is  still  ours ;  apres  nous  le  deluge.  Otto  is 
such  an  exemplary  Noah ;  he  is  sure  to  be  saved  when  it  comes. 
By-the-bye,  I  had  written  to  Labary  about  rehanging  the  west 
bedroom,  but  such  experiences  as  this  take  away  all  one's  pleas- 
ure in  things  of  that  kind.  Wliat's  the  use  of  working  for  such 
a  son  as  Otto  ?" 

With  which  momentous  but  unanswerable  question  he  strol- 
led out  into  the  grounds. 

Louisa,  when  informed  shortly  after  by  her  sister  of  what 
had  happened,  took  off  her  spectacles,  laid  down  the  book  she 
was  reading,  and  said, 

"  Otto  is,  at  least,  the  only  member  of  this  family  possessed 
of  marked  originality." 

The  Freule  van  Borck's  view  of  the  question  was  not  without 


A    FOOL    AND    HIS    FOLL^  133 

importance,  for  she  had  some  money  to  leave  where  she  liked. 
She  was  exceedingly  stingy,  and  her  savings  were  presumed  to 
be  large. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Baroness,  tartly,  "  but  all  his  originality 
is  original  sin.  However,  I  am  glad,  Louisa,  if  you  can  find 
extenuations,  which  I  openly  confess  myself  as  yet  unable  to 
see." 

The  thin  Freule  rested  an  angular  elbow  on  her  knees. 

*'  Ah,  but  that  is  because  you  are  so  entirely  conventional," 
she  said,  gravely.  *' You  are  altogether  hereditary,  my  dear; 
you  cannot  step  out  of  your  groove." 

"  Je  ne  deraille  pas,"  replied  the  Baroness.  "  No.  Dieu 
merci.     Must  Otto,  to  be  happy  ?" 

The  Freule  van  Borck  sighed. 

'*  My  dear,  it  is  no  use,"  she  said.  "  We  shall  never  under- 
stand each  other.  It  is  of  the  very  essence  of  man's  making 
that  he  should  not  run  on  rails.  Machines  run  on  rails.  All 
the  misery  of  the  world  has  been  caused  by  our  doing  so,  and 
generally  in  batches,  after  one  locomotive.  When  two  of  our 
locomotives  met,  there  was  a  smash  and  bloodshed." 

"  But  that,"  said  the  Baroness,  evidently  bored,  '^  is  exactly 
opposed  to  your  favorite  theory  of  hero-worship." 

"  So  it  is,"  replied  her  sister,  cheerfully.  "  We  must  all  be 
inconsistent  at  times,  except  you  people  on  the  rails.  I  was 
thinking  of  the  hereditary  leaders,  not  the  hero-leaders  of  men. 
No  hero  ever — " 

"  But,  Louisa,  don't  you  understand  ?  I  have  just  told  you 
that  Otto — our  Otto — is  going  to  marry  Ursula  Rovers." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  I  reply  that  he  makes  a  distinctly  new 
departure.  To  judge  of  its  expediency,  we  must  know  the 
result." 

"  The  result  can  only  be  misery  to  all  concerned." 

"  You  think  that  because  your  heredity  tells  you  so.  Now, 
I  shall  be  an  interested  and  unprejudiced  spectator.  Every- 
thing depends  upon  Ursula.  Is  she  an  entity  or  a  nonentity? 
That  is  the  question.     I  agree  with  Carlyle— " 

"  Carlyle  was  a  ploughboy !"  cried  the  Baroness,  still  too 
impatient  to  be  polite.     "  Of  course,  he  would  rejoice  to  hear 


134  "       MY    LADY    NOBODY 

of  milkmaids  marryiug  marquises !  Nothing  is  more  lamenta- 
ble in  these  levelling  days  than  that  all  the  geniuses  are  born 
\rithoat  grandfathers.    The  odds  in  the  fight  are  unfair." 

"  Just  so,"  replied  the  Freule,  grimly,  "  Now,  who  knows 
what  a  genius  the  son  of  Otto  and  Ursula  may  be  !  My  dejir, 
I  have  been  reading  a  most  interesting  volume,  entitled  Z* 
Crci98meHt  des  Jiaces*  I  could  give  you  some  exceediugly 
curious  details — ^*' 

"Spare  me  even  the  mention  of  your  horrible  reading, 
Louisa  r*  exclaimed  the  Baroness.  **It  is  like  passing  down 
the  streets  where  they  hang  out  the  Police  JVew*.  Dear  me, 
that  is  Crerard's  voice  speaking  to  his  father.  How  excited  he 
seems !  I  suppose  Theodore  has  already  told  him.  He  must 
calm  down  a  little,  for  the  happy  pair  will  be  here  in  a  minute. 
I  saw  the  carriage  turn  into  the  avenue  from  the  road." 

Gerard  came  rushing  in,  followed  more  leisurely  by  his  father. 

"  Mamma  T'  he  gasped.  "  Mamma,  Otto  has  shot  Beauty  ! 
It  isn^t  possible ;  I  can^t  believe  it.  Shot  Beauty  !  Shot 
Beauty !  Great  God,  what  have  I  done  to  him  that  he  should 
treat  me  like  this!"  He  clinched  his  fist  to  his  forehead. 
**  Shot  Beauty !"  he  cried  again,  in  a  choking  voice.  "  Oh,  I 
hope  I  sha*n*t  see  him !  I  won't  see  him !  Til  go  back  to 
Drum.     If  I  see  him  I  shall  kill  him  !" 

"Gerard!" 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  any  of  you.  I  hate  him !  I  hate  him ! 
I  hate  him!" 

"  My  dear  boy,  don't  be  so  absurd,"  began  the  Baron.  "  It 
really  couldn't  be  helped.  Your  aunt  has  most  kindly  offered 
to  get  you  another  horse." 

**  In  recognition  of  Otto's  prompt  and  spirited  action,"  said 
the  Freule ;  "  it  was  very  dreadful,  Gerard,  but  unavoidable,  and 
he  rose  to  the  occasion.  That  is  what  I  admire.  And  though 
I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  expensive  presents,  and  haven't 
the  means  to  do  so — ^" 

**  I  won't  have  another  horse,"  burst  out  Grerard.  "  I  mean 
to  say,  that's  not  what  I  care  about.  He — he — oh,  you  don't 
know  what  he's  done  to  me.  And  now  he's  killed  Beauty  as 
well !     I  hate  him  !     I  won't^  I  daren't  meet  him  at  dinner  !" 


A    FOOL    AND    HIS    FOLLY  135 

"  There^s  the  hall-bell,"  cried  the  Baroness.  "  Shut  the  door, 
Theodore.  Gerard,  you  had  better  go  out  by  the  anteroom. 
Otto  is  bringing  home  his   betrothed   for  us  to  welcome   as 

such  r 

"  His  betrothed  !"  stammered  Gerard,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other.     "What?     Helena?     Already?" 

"  Helena  ?     No,  indeed.     The  young  lady  is  Ursula  Rovers." 

Otto  and  Ursula,  pausing  outside  the  door,  heard  Gerard's 
laugh  of  malevolent  contempt,  as  well  as  the  words  that  imme- 
diately followed  it. 

"  Ursula  Rovers  I"  he  cried.  "  The  future  Baroness  van  Hel- 
mont !     My  Lady  Nobody  !" 


pact   irir.— CHAPTER  XVII 


BROTHERLY     HATE 


The  two  brothers  stood  face  to  face  by  the  stables.  Otto, 
running  round  for  Ursula's  carriage,  after  the  brief  interview 
with  his  parents,  had  almost  knocked  up  against  Gerard.  He 
started  back. 

"  Damn  you  !"  said  Gerard.  He  said  the  hideous  words  with 
deep  conviction — almost  conscientiously,  as  if  acquitting  him- 
self of  a  painful  duty.  For  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour,  ever 
since  he  had  fled  from  the  boudoir  before  the  approach  of  the 
betrothed  pair,  Gerard  had  been  striding  hither  and  thither,  like 
one  possessed,  in  the  close  vicinity  of  the  stables.  He  was 
hardly  aware  what  he  said  or  thought.  Otto  had  shot  Beauty  ; 
Otto  had  estranged  Helena,  actuated  not  even  by  sneaking  jeal- 
ousy (as  had  first  seemed  probable),  but  by  wanton  ill-nature. 
He  hated  Otto.  He  would  never  look  upon  his  hateful  face 
again.     He  would  hurry  back  to  Drum. 

Suddenly  his  elder  brother  stood  before  him,  almost  jostling 
him  in  a  hasty  recoil.  All  Gerard's  confusion  of  anger  and 
sorrow  cooled  into  one  clear  thunder-bolt. 

"  Damn  you  !"  he  said.  There  could  be  no  doubt  in  his  own 
heart  or  any  other  of  his  concentrated  hate  of  the  intruder. 
What  says  Tacitus  ?  "  With  more  than  brotherly  hate." 
Tacitus  read  the  inner  souls  of  men. 

From  the  moment  when  he  fired  the  fatal  shot,  Otto  had  felt 
that  he  owed  Gerard  most  humble  and  affectionate  apology. 
Concerning  the  episode  with  Helena  he  was,  of  course,  serenely 
ignorant.  But  his  attitude  had  stiffened  just  now  under  the 
cruelly  careless  words  which  had  fallen  like  a  shadow  across  the 
home-bringing  of  the  betrothed. 


BROTHERLY    HATE  137 

"  Silence,  Gerard,"  he  replied,  haughtily.  "  No  one  can  be 
more  sorry  than  myself.  If  you  will  listen  reasonably,  I  will 
try  to  explain — " 

"  No  one  more  sorry  than  yourself  !"  burst  in  Gerard,  his 
whole  frame  trembling  with  passion.  "  No  one  more  sorry ! 
You  loved  Beauty,  I  suppose  ?  You  loved  Beauty  better  than 
anything  else  except — except — "  He  bit  back  the  word 
"mother."  "You  loved  Beauty,  and  first  drove  her  mad  by 
your  insane  bungling,  and  then  shot  her  ! — shot  her !  Oh,  my 
God  !"  The  words  choked  him.  Suddenly  he  grew  white  and 
calm.     He  advanced  upon  Otto. 

"  If  only  you  were  not  my  brother  !"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 

Otto  met  his  anger-troubled  gaze,  unflinching. 

"  You  are  a  first-rate  shot,"  continued  Gerard,  with  bitter 
meaning.  "  Oh,  a  first-rate  shot !  Ursula  was  right.  But  I, 
too,  can  shoot  straight." 

Then  he  broke  off  short,  and  struck  his  forehead,  bewildered 
among  the  madness  of  his  own  conceptions. 

"  Leave  me  to  myself,"  he  gasped.  "  Only  leave  me.  Go 
back  to  Helena — or  Ursula — which  is  it  ?  Tell  Ursula  also.  Be 
sure  and  tell  Ursula  everything  about  me.  Go  and  be  happy, 
you  and  your  charming — " 

"Not  a  word  more,"  interrupted  Otto,  forewarned  by  the 
other's  tone.  "  I  am  very  sorry,  Gerard,  and  willing  to  make 
every  allowance.  But  I  will  not  hear  a  word  against  my  future 
wife." 

Gerard  rushed  away. 

"  Why  not,  after  all  ?"  he  asked  himself.  Brothers  had  met 
before  in  honorable  combat  alone  beneath  the  moonlight  shad- 
ows of  Rhenish  castle  walls.  He  laughed  aloud,  and  when  the 
coachman's  dog  ran  out,  barking,  to  greet  him,  he  kicked  the 
brute  away. 

Ursula  could  not  but  notice  Otto's  silence — nay,  more,  his 
depression — as  they  drove  back  again  to  the  Parsonage.  She 
explained  it  by  the  Baroness's  reception  of  the  engagement. 
For  not  even  the  most  laborious  amiability  could  make  the  two 
women  misunderstand  each  other. 

"  Otto,  I  hope,"  stammered  the  girl,  with  sudden  heart-sink- 


138  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

ing,  as  they  paused  under  tlie  little  veranda,  "  oh,  I  hope  you 
will  never  repent." 

He  hesitated,  and,  with  human  inconsistency,  she  resented 
the  momentary  delay  in  his  denial. 

"  No,  I  shall  never  repent,"  he  replied,  "  unless — " 

He  checked  himself ;  he  was  going  to  say  she  must  make  up 
her  mind  to  leave  Horstwyk,  but  he  realized  the  unfairness  of 
too  precipitate  appeal. 

"Unless?"  she  repeated,  looking  into  his  eyes. 

'<  We  will  talk  about  it  some  other  day,"  he  answered,  hastily. 
"  For  the  moment  you  and  1  are  simply  happy  ;  let  that  suffice 
us.  I  am  proud  of  you,  my  darling,  and  it  seems  too  good, 
you  caring  for  an  old  fellow  like  me." 

He  kissed  her,  and  she  blushed,  half  unwilling,  under  the 
unwonted  familiarity  from  a  man  she  barely  knew.  Love  and 
marriage  seemed  so  strange  to  her — not  unpleasant,  but  so 
strange. 

She  watched  him  down  the  road,  and  her  eyes  grew  misty. 
"Unless?"  she  softly  repeated  to  herself.  Then  she  went  and 
found  her  father  in  his  study. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  "  you  are  sure  that  Otto  loves  me  ?" 

"  Why  else  should  he  ask  you  to  marry  him  ?"  retorted  the 
Domine,  turning  abruptly  in  his  round  desk-chair. 

"Yes,  that  is  true,"  replied  Ursula,  humbly.  "But  they 
cannot  say  the  same  of  me." 

"How?  What?"  queried  the  Domine,  with  troubled  eye- 
brows. 

She  turned  full  to  the  light. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  impetuously,  "  it's  not  that  I  want  to  be 
Baroness  van  Helmont.     I'm  sure,  I'm  sure  it's  not." 

The  Domine  struck  his  hand  on  the  table  before  him. 

"  No,  indeed,"  he  cried,  in  a  loud  voice.  "  Who  says  that  ? 
Who  dares  to  say  that  ?" 

Ursula  sighed  wearily. 

"  Oh,  no  one  does,"  she  answered.  "  Never  mind.  Life  is 
very  complicated.  I  wish  one  always  knew  exactly  what  was 
right." 

"  One   always   does,"  said   the   simple  -  thoughted  Domine. 


BROTHERLY    HATE  139 

"  Obey  marching  orders.  Forward.  Do  the  nearest  duty  at 
once,  and  with  all  your  might." 

Ursula  sighed  again,  still  more  wearily,  and,  going  out  into 
the  passage,  happed  upon  her  aunt.  Miss  Mopius  passed  on 
her  way  to  the  store-cupboard,  her  joined  hands  overweighted 
with  eggs.  At  sight  of  her  successful  rival  she  started,  and 
one  of  the  eggs  flopped  down  on  the  stones  in  slimy  collapse. 

*'  I  can  understand  your  exultation,  Ursula,"  said  Miss  Mopi- 
us, all  a- quiver,  "but  don't  sneer  at  me  like  that.  I  won't 
stand  it.  Some  day,  perhaps,  you  also  will  know  the  curse  of 
Eve." 

Ursula,  in  the  cruelty  of  her  youth  and  beauty,  barely  pitied 
her  aunt. 

"What  was  the  curse  of  Eve?"  she  inquired. 

"Adam,"  retorted  Miss  Mopius,  and  dropped  another  egg. 

"  I'll  wipe  up  the  mess,"  said  Ursula,  sweetly. 

Miss  Mopius  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  She  spent  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  diluting  one  solitary  globule  of  a  patent  medicine 
through  a  series  of  thirteen  brimming  decanters  of  water.  A 
tumbler  from  the  first  decanter  was  poured  into  the  second,  and 
so  on  through  the  lot.  The  thirteenth  solution,  said  the  ad- 
vertisement, was  the  most  "  potent."  Miss  Mopius  believed  the 
advertisement.  The  magnificent  name  of  the  small  globule  had 
an  ever-recurring  charm  for  her.  It  was  called  "  Sympathetico 
Lob."  "  Lob,"  especially,  struck  her  as  so  delightfully  mysteri- 
ous. And  it  cured  dizziness,  palpitation,  bad  taste  in  the 
mouth,  liver  complaint,  rheumatism,  St.  Vitus'  dance,  stitch  in 
the  side,  and  heartburn,  besides  being  highly  recommended  for 
cases  of  agitation,  nervous  depression,  sudden  bereavement,  and 
disappointed  love.  Miss  Mopius  found  it  very  helpful.  She 
sat  in  her  darkened  room,  amid  the  falling  twilight,  sipping. 

That  evening  there  was  consternation  in  the  big  drawing- 
room  at  the  Horst.  It  spread  itself  like  a  great  mist  between 
the  occupants  of  the  apartment,  and  prevented  their  looking 
into  each  other's  eyes.  The  oppression  had  begun  round  Ge- 
rard's vacant  chair  at  the  dinner-table ;  it  now  deepened  about 
the  Baroness,  where  she  sat  apart  from  the  rest,  straightened 


140  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

among  the  soft  silks  of  her  causeuse.      In  the  lap  of  her  pearl 
gray  evening-dress  lay  a  crumpled  white  scrap  from  Gerard : 

"  I'm  off  to  Drum.  I  sha'n't  come  back  as  long  as  you've  got 
Otto.     The  house  can't  hold  us  both.— G." 

Father  and  elder  son  stood  with  downcast  lids,  watching  each 
other  through  inner  eyes.  The  Freule  laid  down  her  news- 
paper. 

"  He  will  think  twice,"  she  said,  sharply.  "  Gerard  is  not  the 
kind  of  man  to  desert  the  fleshpots  of  Egypt  because  Moses 
has  come  with  a  plague  or  two." 

The  Baron's  gloomy  face  rippled  over  with  sudden  sunshine. 

"  That's  just  like  you,  Louisa,"  he  cried,  "  to  select  the  most 
unfortunate  simile  in  a  hundred  thousand.  The  worst  of  all 
Moses's  plagues  was  the  removal  of  the  eldest  son !"  He 
laughed,  looking  for  the  first  time  at  his  heir.  "  I  am  speaking 
from  Gerard's  point  of  view,"  he  added.  "  Of  course,  of  course, 
from  Gerard's  point  of  view."  And  he  laughed  again,  but  half- 
way the  laugh  died  down  into  a  pathetic  little  murmur.  "  It  is 
exceedingly  annoying,"  he  said,  plaintively.  "  And  I  who  detest 
unpleasantness  !  We  have  never  had  any  unpleasantness  be- 
fore." 

"  He  means  it,"  interposed  the  Baroness,  in  a  dull  tone.  "  I 
know  he  means  it,  because  of  the  little  hook  to  the  '  G.'  When 
Gerard  makes  that,  he  is  in  earnest.  It  corresponds  to  a  jerk  in 
his  voice.  None  of  you  understand  Gerard.  He  is  so  good- 
natured  ;  you  fancy  he  is  all  sunshine  and  no  fire." 

"  Deplorable  !"  exclaimed  the  Baron,  stopping,  helpless,  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  "And  incomprehensible.  All  about  a 
horse.  We  will  buy  Louisa's  present,  the  sooner  the  better,  and 
send  it  to  bring  him  back." 

"  Ah !  but  is  it  all  about  a  horse  ?"  asked  the  Freule's  high- 
pitched  voice.  Once  more  she  emerged  from  behind  her  news- 
paper, her  own  particular  newspapers,  the  Victory!  It  would 
be  diflScult  to  say  what  the  Victory  wanted  to  conquer;  but 
you  received  a  general  impression  from  its  pages  that  in  this 
world  the  battle  was  always  to  the  strong. 


BROTHERLY    HATE  141 

"Ah !  but  is  it  all  about  a  horse  ?"  asked  the  Freule,  amid  a 
darkening  silence.  "  Or  could  Otto  tell  more  if  he  would  ?  You 
consider  me  none  too  sharp-sighted,  my  dear  brother  and  sister ; 
but  it  strikes  me  you  are  blind  not  to  perceive  that  you  would 
have  had  a  daughter-in-law  Ursula  anyway,  whether  your  eld- 
est had  come  back  or  not,  eh  ?"  She  shot  out  this  last  inter- 
jection at  her  nephew,  rising,  meanwhile,  all  in  one  piece,  with 
an  abrupt  sweep  back  of  her  stand-up  silk. 

Otto  was  horrified  by  the  sudden  condensation  of  the  amor- 
phous suspicions  afloat  in  his  brain.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
he  had  ousted  a  rival  ?  Certainly,  Gerard's  fury  seemed  in  excess 
of  the  injury  to  which  he  owned.  For  the  first  time,  in  the 
elder  brother's  heart  also,  dislike  and  distrust  joined  hands. 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  Freule  van  Borck,  across  his  irritable  un- 
certainty. She  nodded  to  the  others  provokingly,  and  walked 
out  upon  the  terrace.     Otto  followed  her. 

*'  Aunt  Louisa,"  he  began,  "  I  think  you  are  mistaken." 

"Yes,  Otto,"  she  answered.  "Of  course  you  do  now.  But 
you  didn't  when  I  first  spoke,  you  see.  Let  me  give  you  a  bit 
of  advice.     Eh  ?" 

"  Well  ?"     The  young  man's  voice  was  not  inviting. 

"  Don't  go  back  to  Java  with  your  wife,  as  I  dare  say  you 
want  to  do.  Stop  here  and  fight  it  out.  Ursula  '11  fight  it  out. 
I  don't  give  twopence  for  a  married  woman  who  can't  live  in  the 
same  house  with  her  former  lover.  Of  course  they  were  lovers. 
I've  seen  it  these  half  a  dozen  years.  Never  mind.  She  was 
too  good  for  Gerard.  There  !"  She  smiled  a  complimentary 
smile  to  her  brawny  nephew ;  she  liked  his  brownness  and  big- 
ness, and  straight,  square  strength. 

Otto  crept  away. 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  speak  about  going  away,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "To-morrow,  not  to-night.  The  Domine  must  listen  to 
reason.     The  shadow  of  Cain  lies  between  Gerard  and  me." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  DUTY  OF  A  PARENT 

Next  morning,  so  it  happened,  the  Doraine  awoke  to  a  mod- 
erately disagreeable  task.  While  dressing,  he  grumbled  over 
the  speck  in  his  tranquil  sky,  as  mortals  will  do  when  unaware 
of  the  storm-cloud  fringing  their  horizon. 

The  Domine  had  a  parishioner  who  caused  him  more  annoy- 
ance than  the  rest.  This  sheep  of  the  flock  was,  however,  not  a 
black  sheep.  It  was  serenely  white.  It  never  wandered,  for  it 
never  even  got  up.  Its  name  was  Klomp,  and  its  nature  was 
unmitigated  indolence. 

This  man  Klomp  inhabited  a  little  cottage  of  his  own,  lost 
among  the  woods.  He  shared  it  with  two  daughters,  aged  re- 
spectively twelve  and  eighteen.  Like  its  owner,  the  cottage 
lived  on,  disgraceful  but  comfortable.  Theoretically,  it  ought 
to  have  been  pulled  down. 

Klomp  knew  better.  All  summer  he  lazed  over  a  hedge 
which  mysteriously  bore  his  weight;  all  winter  he  dozed  by 
the  stove.  If  any  remnant  of  useless  ornamentation  fell  away 
from  the  cottage,  the  proprietor  never  winked  an  eye,  but  should 
a  tile  drop  whose  fall  let  in  the  rain  or  wind,  Klomp  would 
scramble  up  on  the  roof  and  replace  it.     He  was  a  philosopher. 

He  never  ill-treated  his  daughters  unless  they  let  the  fire  go 
out  in  winter.  To  keep  it  lighted  during  seven  months  of  the 
year  was  their  whole  earthly 'duty,  for  house-keeping  had  long 
been  reduced  to  an  almost  imperceptible  minimum.  The  entire 
family  lived  on  next  to  nothing  very  cheerfully,  and  was  a  dis- 
grace to  the  neighborhood. 

Vices  the  father  had  none.  As  has  already  been  hinted,  he 
was  negatively  virtuous.     He  drowsed  at  peace  with  himself 


THE    DUTY    OF    A    PARENT  143 

and  with  all  the  world  above  and  below  him,  except  when  the 
Domine  came  to  make  trouble. 

The  Domine  was  making  trouble  just  now.  By  a  stroke  of 
unexpected  good-fortune  an  opportunity  had  occurred  of  "  do- 
ing something  for  those  poor  girls,"  whose  one  desire  was  that 
nothing  should  be  done  either  for  them  or  by  them.  Freule 
van  Borck,  it  must  be  known,  occasionally  took  a  philanthropic 
interest  in  the  village  at  her  brother's  castle-gates,  an  interest 
which  manifested  itself  in  spasmodic  bursts  of  tidying  up 
neglected  corners.  She  had  suddenly  disapproved  of  that  long- 
standing eyesore,  the  Klomps^  cottage,  and  had  made  a  begin- 
ning of  improvement  by  getting  an  energetic  person  in  the 
north  to  accept  of  Pietje,  the  elder  girl,  as  a  possible  servant, 
wages  five  pounds  per  annum,  all  found.  This  good  news  had 
been  communicated  to  Pietje  by  Hephzibah,  the  Freule's  maid. 
Pietje  had  merely  answered,  "  Let  the  Freule  go  herself,"  but 
that  retort  got  modified  on  its  way  to  Louisa. 

So  now  the  Domine  went  to  try  his  hand.  He  especially  dis- 
liked all  intercourse  with  Klomp,  because,  during  their  inter- 
views, one  of  the  two  invariably  lost  his  temper,  and  that  one 
was  never  the  parishioner.  That  was  the  worst  of  Klomp ;  he 
had  no  temper  to  lose. 

To-day,  however,  the  parson  rejoiced  in  notable  compensa- 
tions ;  these  occupied  his  thoughts  as  he  swung  with  large  steps 
through  the  woodlands.  After  the  first  shock  of  abandonment 
which  every  parent  feels  in  a  daughter's  sudden  rapture,  he  had 
settled  down  to  complacent  contemplation  of  an  eligible  son-in- 
law.  For  the  Domine,  as  we  know,  had  never  made  a  secret  of 
his  attachment  to  Otto.  And  he  lacked  the  requisite  affectation 
to  convince  himself  that  the  secondary  consideration  of  the 
young  man's  social  position  was  altogether  beneath  the  notice 
of  a  humble  clergyman  like  himself. 

His  darling  Ursula  would  flit  from  the  nest — that  is  true — 
but  only  to  another  close  by,  where  he  still  could  hear  her  sing- 
ing. The  Domine  smiled  gratefully  over  this  linked  perfection 
of  prosperity  :  wife  to  the  heir  of  the  Horst,  and  wife  to  Otto 
van  Helmont. 

"  Lord  God,  I  thank  Thee,"   said  the  Domine,  out  aloud, 


144  MY     LADY    NOBODY 

among  the  fragrance  of  the  solitary  lane.  His  path  wound  in 
sandy  whiteness  beneath  the  heat-mist  of  the  fir-trees ;  there 
was  a  buzz  on  all  sides  of  a  myriad  nothings,  invisibly  swelling 
the  morning  air. 

The  cottage  lay  prone  upon  the  ground,  asleep.  It  had  sunk 
as  low  as  it  could,  and  had  pulled  the  ragged  branches  of  the 
trees  over  its  ears,  comfortably  hiding  in  the  cool,  long  shadows, 
naked  and  unashamed. 

The  owner  of  the  cottage  lay  prone  upon  the  ground  also ;  he 
had  the  advantage  of  the  house  in  that  he  was  consciously — and 
conscientiously — drowsing.  *'  I  sleep,  but  my  heart  waketh." 
Klomp  knew  he  was  not  awake.  Man  has  few  pleasures  here 
below  ;  has  he  any  to  equal  that  sensation? 

"  Good-morning,  Klomp,"  said  the  parson's  bright,  brisk  voice 
at  his  ear.  Klomp  did  not  start ;  he  merely  half  opened  one 
eye  and  answered,  "  Domine,"  which  was  his  abbreviated  form 
of  salutation.  "  Save  your  breath  to  spare  your  life,"  was  one 
of  his  axioms. 

"Klomp,  I've  come  about  Pietje,"  continued  the  Domine, 
with  that  loudness  which,  in  him,  was  nervousness  escaping. 
"  I've  heard  about  the  place  the  Freule  has  found  for  lier.  What 
a  splendid  opportunity  !     And  so  kind  of  the  Freule  I" 

Klomp  nodded  assent.  Like  most  country  parsons,  the  Dom- 
ine was  very  sensitive  to  disrespect.  "  You  might  get  up, 
Klomp,"  he  said,  sharply. 

"  Oh,  if  you  wish  it,  sir,  of  course,"  replied  the  man,  shuffling 
to  his  feet,  with  an  air  of  contempt  for  the  other's  stupidity. 
He  immediately  lounged  up  against  the  wall,  sinking  both  hands 
in  his  pockets.  "  Them's  my  sentiments  to  a  T,"  he  ejaculated, 
and  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  a  paper  nailed  against 
the  dilapidated  shutter,  white  on  the  dirty  green. 

The  parson,  advancing  curiously,  read  the  following  sentences 
in  an  illiterate  scrawl : 

"Standing  is  better  than  walking, 
Sitting  is  better  than  standing, 
Lying  is  better  than  sitting, 
And  sleep  is  the  best  of  all." 

1  Corinthians  xix.,  7. 


THE    DUTY    OF    A     PARENT  145 

Kloinp  nodded  again,  as  the  Domine  turned  witli  a  jump. 
"  How  dare  you  put  a  Bible  tag  under  such  nonsense  as  this  ?" 
cried  the  Domine,  sniffing  like  a  warhorse. 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  Bible  knows,"  replied  Klomp,  imperturbably. 
"  It's  word  of  Holy  Scripture,  Domine,  so  you  can't  say  it  isn't 
true." 

"  Word  of  holy  scribbling !"  cried  the  indignant  clergyman. 
"  It's  no  more  in  God's  Bible,  Klomp,  than  you  are  in  God's 
fold.  And  you  haven't  even  got  it  correct,  for  it  ends  *  And 
death  is  the  best  of  all.' " 

Suddenly  a  dark  cloud  seemed  to  spread  across  the  sunlit 
landscape.  The  surrounding  Jarch-trees  shivered,  with  a  long- 
drawn  sigh. 

"  I  wish  you  would  move  a  little  on  one  side,  Domine,"  said 
Klomp,  querulously,  though  he  had  never  heard  of  Diogenes. 
"  Thank  you.  Well,  a  peddler-man  that  came  showed  it  me  in  a 
book,  and  he  said  it  was  in  the  Bible,  and  if  it  isn't,  it  ought  to 
be.     Them's  my  sentiments.     Morning,  Domine." 

His  feet  slipped  forward  under  the  weariness  of  this  long  dis- 
course ;  he  recovered  himself  with  a  shuffle.  Broad  as  the  con^ 
eluding  hint  had  been,  the  Domine  ignored  it. 

"  You  never  do  anything,  Klomp,"  he  said,  angrily. 

"  Then  I  never  do  anything  wrong,  Domine.  I  don't  drink. 
I  don't  even  smoke.     I'm  too  poor." 

"  Poverty  is  not  disgraceful  to  confess,"  replied  the  Domine, 
quoting  Pericles,  "  but  not  to  escape  it  by  exertion,  that  is  dis- 
graceful." 

Every  child  in  the  parish  had  heard  the  quotation. 

Klomp  yawned  :  "  '  Peace  and  potatoes  is  better  than  a  pother 
and  a  cow.'  That's  in  the  Bible,  at  any  rate,"  he  replied,  and 
suddenly  he  collapsed  again  upon  the  grass  before  the  startled 
parson's  backward  skip. 

"  Could  I  see  Pietje  and  speak  to  her  ?  Perhaps  she  will  listen 
to  reason,"  hazarded  the  Domine,  controlling  his  wrath.  The 
father  pointed  to  the  cottage  door  ;  then,  suddenly  remembering 
the  vague  possibility  of  future  poor-relief,  as  yet  not  required,  he 
faintly  called  his  elder  daughter's  name. 

She  crept  out  with  a  half-pared  potato  in  her  hand.     She  was 


146  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

a  ruddy-faced  girl,  not  uncomely  in  her  slovenliness,  like  an  ap- 
ple that  has  fallen  from  the  tree. 

*'  Well,  Pietje,"  began  Domine  Rovers,  patiently,  "  so  you 
are  going  to  Groningen  to  a  nice  home  and  useful  work.  It  is 
very  kind,  indeed,  of  the  good  lady  who  is  willing  to  teach 
you." 

"  Yes,  Domine,"  said  Pietje. 

"  Ah,  that's  right,"  cried  the  Domine,  with  pleased  surprise. 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  you've  come  to  your  senses.  So  you're  going, 
like  a  good  girl  ?" 

"  No,  Domine,"  said  Pietje. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  impertinent  creature  ?"  exclaimed 
the  minister,  exceedingly  irate.  "  Not  going  when  you  said  you 
were.     Not — " 

"  No,  Domine,"  repeated  Pietje,  sitting  down  on  the  window- 
sill. 

Domine  Rovers  turned  upon  the  recumbent  father.  Of  course 
he  had  lost  his  temper ;  he  had  known  all  along  that  he  would 
do  so  the  consciousness  of  losing  hold  caused  him  to  let  go  all 
the  faster. 

*'I  appeal  to  you,"  he  cried — "you,  the  responsible  guardian 
of  this  child.  Her  lot  is  in  your  hands  to-day  for  life-long  weal 
or  woe.  She  is  incapable  of  choosing,  and  unfit  to  do  so.  It  is 
only  your  selfishness,  Klomp,  that  is  ruining  your  daughters' 
lives.  You  say  you  want  them  with  you,  I  hear.  A  pretty  ex- 
cuse." 

"  Yes  ;  I  love  them,"  murmured  Klomp,  sentimentally. 

"  And  what  would  Mietje  do  ?"  interposed  Pietje,  looking  up 
from  vague  contemplation  of  the  pendent  potato-peel.  Mietje 
was  the  child  of  twelve. 

This  objection  not  being  easy  to  meet,  the  Doming  ignored 
it.  "  Fine  love,  indeed,"  he  shouted  to  the  father.  "  When  a 
parent  loves  his  child,  he  sacrifices  any  inclinations  of  his  own 
to  that  child's  real  welfare.  The  parent  who  doesn't  do  that, 
doesn't  love.     Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Klomp. 

"  Then  take  this  to  heart.  If  you  don't  send  Pietje  to  Gronin- 
gen, and  make  her  go,  you  don't  love  her.     There  !" 


THE    DUTY    OF    A    PARENT  147 

"  Would  the  Domine  send  Jullrouw  Ursula  to  Groningen  ?" 
asked  Pietje,  askance. 

"  Indeed  I  should,"  replied  the  Domine,  triumphantly,  think- 
ing of  the  Horst.  "  Never  should  I  allow  my  own  interests  to 
influence  me.     Be  sensible,  Klomp." 

But  at  this  moment  a  welcome  diversion  occurred.  Mietje, 
the  child,  came  running  round  the  cottage  with  pitiful  cries. 

"  Pussy  !"  she  screamed  from  afar ;  "  oh,  father,  pussy  !  The 
rope  broke,  and  she's  dropped  into  the  well !" 

She  was  sobbing  and  shrieking;  nobody  scolded  her  for  her 
mischief-making.  Pietje  started  up  with  eager  words  of  com- 
fort. 

"  Father  would  get  the  ladder.  Father  would  go  down  into 
the  water.     Father  would  fish  out  pussy." 

Klomp  was  already  up  and  away.  The  two  girls  hurried  after 
him.     The  Domine  was  left  alone. 

"  Well,  I  have  done  my  duty,"  he  mused,  retracing  his  steps. 
"  The  best  of  us  can  do  no  more."  He  was  a  very  good  man. 
He  had  a  good  man's  weakness  for  consciously  doing  his  duty. 

As  he  turned  into  a  little  brown  hollow  all  checkered  with 
sunlit  tracery,  he  saw  Otto  van  Helmont  come  vaulting  over  a 
stile. 

"  Ah,  Domine,  I  was  looking  for  you,"  said  Otto.  Then  they 
walked  on  side  by  side,  and  gradually  an  embarrassing  silence 
settled  down  between  them.     The  Domine  broke  it. 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  day,"  said  the  Domine. 

"  Yes,  replied  Otto.  "  Domine,  when  Ursula  and  I  are  mar- 
ried, we  must  go  back  to  Java." 

"  Never,"  said  the  Domine,  and  with  a  sweep  of  his  walking- 
stick  he  knocked  down  a  thistle. 

"  I — I  am  aware  that  perhaps  I  have  hardly  acted  quite  fairly," 
began  Otto,  speaking  with  some  agitation.  "  It  has  all  come  so 
suddenly ;  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  overwhelmed.  Apart 
from  her  general  condemnation  of  India,  which  I  have  never 
treated  quite  seriously,  the  subject  has  not  yet  been  mooted  be- 
tween us.  I  wished  first  to  speak  of  it  to  you.  I  feel  that  I 
am  asking — " 

The  Domin6  had  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  narrow  path. 


148  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  It  was  the  condition,"  lie  interrupted,  hoarsely.  "  She  made 
it  the  condition.     Never." 

"  No,  indeed,  we  have  not  spoken  of  it,"  cried  Otto,  in  dis- 
tress. 

The  Domine  stamped  his  foot.  "  Women  always  forget 
everything,"  he  said. 

Otto  hurried  on.  "  I  want  to  explain,"  he  continued,  eagerly. 
"  I  hope  you  will  let  me  explain.  It  is  a  most  painful  thing  for 
all  of  us.  I  cannot  stay  at  the  Horst,  Domine  ;  that  is  quite  out 
of  the  question.     In  fact,  the  sooner  I  leave  it  the  better." 

"  Why  ?"  broke  in  the  Domine,  vehemently.  "  What  non- 
sense !     Of  course  you  can  stay  at  the  Horst !" 

"  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of  earning  my  living  in  this  country  ; 
you  yourself  have  always  discouraged  it.  Besides,  I  must  earn 
much  more  than  my  living.  That  is  imperative.  Especially 
now."  He  checked  himself ;  he  was  not  going  to  speak  to  the 
Domine  of  the  Baroness's  shattered  hopes.  But  Ursula's  father 
understood. 

Involuntarily  both  men's  eyes  wandered  away  across  the  fields 
towards  the  chimneys  of  the  Horst  embedded  in  foliage.  Then 
their  glances  met. 

"  Never.    Never.    Never,"  repeated  the  Domine,  passionately. 

"  In  a  few  years  I  shall  probably  want  money,"  declared  Otto, 
decisively.  "  I  shall  want  a  good  deal  of  money,  I  expect.  I 
must  do  what  I  can  to  earn  it.  You  will  say,  perhaps,  like  my 
father,  that  till  now  I  have  tried  and  failed.  All  the  more  reason 
to  try  again." 

"No,  I  don't  say  that,"  responded  the  Domine,  honestly. 
*'You  know  I  don't.  But,  Otto,  I  can't  let  my  Ursula  go  to 
Java." 

Otto  did  not  immediately  return  to  the  charge.  Presently  he 
began  again,  in  quite  a  low  voice,  almost  a  whisper,  under  the 
laughing  blue  sky, 

"  More  than  fifteen  years  ago  a  young  man  came  to  you,  com- 
plaining bitterly  that  he  was  sick  of  his  empty,  meaningless 
existence.  He  was  tired  of  life,  he  said.  And  you  answered, 
'  Go  and  work.  The  people  who  work  have  no  time  to  get 
tired.' " 


THE    DUTY    OF    A    PARENT  149 

"But  I  never  said,  *  Go  and  amass  money,'"  interrupted  the 
old  man,  lifting  a  shaky  arm. 

"  You  said, '  Spend  your  own  money.'  How  well  I  remember 
your  saying  that  the  night  I  came  to  you !  '  You  are  a  grown 
man.  Don't  spend  any  one's  money  but  your  own.'  It  came  to 
me  like  a  revelation.  It  was  so  directly  opposed  to  what  I  had 
been  taught  from  my  youth.  In  my  world  they  say,  '  Only 
don't  earn  money.    You  may  do  anything  except  that.'  " 

"  Well,  you  have  obeyed  that  precept,"  replied  the  Doraine, 
a  little  bitterly.     Then  he  repented  immediately. 

"  Otto,  you're  a  good  fellow.  I  can't  let  my  Ursula  go  away 
to  Java." 

"  I  was  wrong,  perhaps,"  said  Otto,  "  to  demand  so  great  a 
sacrifice.  I  ought  to  have  spoken  more  plainly  of  my  intentions 
beforehand — " 

"  You  ought,  indeed,"  interjected  the  Domine,  glad  of  every 
vent.     "  You  have  behaved  exceedingly  badly." 

"  So  be  it.  Well,  I  leave  the  matter  in  your  hands.  Person- 
ally, of  course,  I  consider  I  ought  to  return.  I  have  a  fresh 
offer — a  really  advantageous  opening  on  a  sugar  plantation,  a 
large  distillery — " 

The  Domine  looked  at  him. 

"  That  means  rough  work,"  said  the  Domine. 

"  But  you  must  decide,"  continued  Otto,  evasively.  "  If  you 
distinctly  prefer  it,  I  shall  look  for  occupation  in  Holland. 
Only  in  no  case  can  I  remain  at  the  Horst." 

"  You  can,"  cried*the  Domine,  quite  angrily. 

0:to  had  stopped.  His  eyes  were  following  a  distant  swal- 
low's trackless  dips. 

"And  even  if  I  could,"  he  said,  slowly,  "my  wife  could  not 
— Ursula  could  not." 

The  Domine's  eyes  sought  his  in  long  inquiry. 

"  With  Gerard,"  said  Otto  at  last. 

"  Ah  !" 

Then  the  Domine  cried,  "  Stuff  and  nonsense !  stuff  and  non- 
sense !     I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.     Nor  do  you." 

"  I  leave  the  decision  in  your  hands,"  repeated  Otto.  "  Some 
employment  of  some  kind  in  some  Dutch  town,  if  you  so  wish." 


150  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

The  Domine  leaned  up  against  a  tree;  lie  closed  his  eyes;  his 
bronzed  face  was  quite  white.  The  wood  seemed  to  hold  its 
breath  under  the  sneering  sky. 

"  When  a  father  loves  his  child,"  began  the  Domine ;  then 
his  voice  broke.  "  My  Ursula,"  he  said.  "  God  have  mercy  on 
me !     The  Lord  gives  and  the  Lord  takes  away."     He  stopped. 

Otto,  thoughtfully  wending  his  way  homeward,  reached  a 
spot  where  the  Manor-house  burst  into  view  all  at  once  through 
the  park.  Unconsciously  he  stood  still.  The  moments  passed 
by ;  he  remained  without  moving ;  a  yellow  butterfly  came 
foolishly  hovering  among  the  bushes ;  he  did  not  see  it. 

Suddenly  a  single  tear  lay  heavy  on  his  cheek. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FORFEITS    ALL    ROUND 

For  the  next  three  months  Otto  worked  in  a  siigar-distillery 
at  Boxlo,  a  little  town  among  the  wilds  of  Brabant.  It  was 
rough  work,  indeed,  as  the  Domine  had  foretold.  Night  after 
night  the  Jonker  stood,  stripped  to  the  waist,  before  the  blaz- 
ing furnaces ;  in  the  small  hours  he  came  home  to  his  lodgings 
and  strove  to  snatch  from  the  daylight  such  sleep  as  he  could. 
Fortunately  he  was  very  robust,  but  that,  although  an  allevia- 
tion, can  hardly  be  considered  an  excuse.  Sometimes  even  he 
wondered  whether  such  slaving,  amid  grime  and  oil-stench  and 
sick  throbs,  was  his  natural  fate,  but  his  father  had  truly  de- 
scribed him  as  animated  by  a  passion  of  self-torture.  Out-of-the- 
way  horrors  were  probably  one's  duty.  Besides,  what  other 
career  was  open  to  him  at  the  moment?  Once  in  India,  with  his 
friend's  assistance,  he  would  stand  an  excellent,  chance  of  mak- 
ing a  fortune  by  sugar,  as  that  friend  had  done  before  him,  in 
half  a  dozen  years. 

So  he  worked,  night  after  night,  month  after  month,  with 
set  lips  and  still  eyes.  Occasionally  he  spent  a  Sunday  at  the 
Manor-house,  as  if  a  traveller  traversing  mountain  solitudes  had 
halted  from  time  to  time  at  a  Parisian  cafe.  His  father  and 
mother  accepted  him  without  comment,  adverse  or  otherwise ; 
in  the  smooth  design  of  their  lives  he  was  an  arabesque  run 
mad.     During  his  stay  the  Baroness  chiefly  regretted  Gerard. 

The  only  person  who  stuck  to  him  through  it  all,  stanch  and 
true,  was  Roderick  Rovers.  Once  having  accepted  the  duty  of 
sacrifice,  the  Domine  delighted  in  its  pain.  He  rejoiced  in 
proving  to  himself  how,  like  the  old  soldier  he  was,  he  could 
probe  his  own  wound  without  wincing. 


152  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

*'  It  is  a  great  thing  in  Otto  to  go,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  great 
thing  in  me  to  let  him  take  Ursula.  Great  souls  do  great 
things  gladly."  Then  he  laughed  at  himself:  "Pshaw,"  he 
said,  " '  Men  always  imagine  the  struggle  of  the  moment,  while 
they  are  engaged  in  it,  to  be  the  greatest  that  ever  was.'  You 
will  find  that  in  Thucydides,  Ursula.  Thucydides  was  a  very 
wise  man." 

Ursula  acquiesced  a  little  impatiently.  She  did  not  want  to 
go  to  Java.  She  thought  Otto  should  have  made  known  his  in- 
tentions in  time.  Placed  between  the  two,  she  immediately  dis- 
carded her  brand-new  lover  for  the  father  on  whose  affection 
her  whole  life  had  been  built  up.  In  the  sudden  certainty  of 
separation  from  the  Domine,  she  discovered,  with  alarming  un- 
expectedness, that  she  could  very  well  have  continued  to  exist 
without  Otto.  For  several  days  their  engagement  dangled  on  a 
thread. 

Her  irritated  hesitancy  filled  her  lover  with  dismay,  for  it 
strengthened  all  his  doubts  of  Gerard.  An  honest  maiden's 
accepted  lover  does  not  ask  her  if  she  loves  another  man. 
Indignantly  Otto  wiped  the  momentary  film  from  the  pure  re- 
flection he  bore  in  his  heart.  But  there  are  actions  we  barely 
commit,  yet  remember  a  lifetime. 

It  was  the  Domine,  after  all,  who  married  Ursula  to  Otto, 
with  deep  commiseration  for  himself.  His  dear  child's  filial 
loyalty,  while  it  wakened  all  his  pride,  showed  him  his  own 
path  the  more  clearly.  "A  woman  shall  leave  father  and 
mother  and  shall  cleave  unto  her  husband,"  he  said.  "  Never 
shall  I  allow  you  'to  desert  Otto  for  my  sake.  You  do  not 
know  your  own  heart,  child.  Your  magnanimity  leads  you 
astray."  Ultimately  Ursula  almost  believed  this.  But  she 
conditioned  for  a  two  years'  absence  only. 

*'  I,  had  such  been  my  lofty  mission,  would  have  proved  my- 
self faithful  unto  death,"  said  Miss  Mopius,  to  whom  came  outer 
echoes  of  the  struggle.  "  A  great  love,  like  blazing  sunlight, 
hides  the  whole  world  in  its  own  bright  mist.  Van  Helmont 
has  dropped  a  diamond  to  play  with  a  pebble.  So  like  a  man." 
Miss  Mopius,  since  her  disappointment,  had  grown  very  roman- 
tic in  her  talk.     According  to  the  advertisements  it  was  the 


FORFEITS    ALL    ROUND  153 

Sympathetico  Lob ;  according  to  her  own  account  it  was  her 
mighty  sorrow.  "  Ah,  my  dear,  do  not  let  us  speak  of  it.  Ev- 
ery woman's  heart  is  a  sanctuary  with  a  crypt." 

She  snorted  at  Ursula's  heavy  eyes.  "  Every  man  gets  the 
wife  he  deserves,"  she  said.  "  With  women  that  is  not  the  case, 
their  choice  being  limited."  Ursula  was  incapable  of  small, 
spiteful  retorts  ;  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  prove  to 
Aunt  Josine  and  the  world  how  worthily  Otto  had  chosen. 

So  she  set  to  work  on  her  trousseau,  and  was  very  affection- 
ate to  her  father.  There  was  something  exceedingly  painful  in 
this  latter-day  softness  between  two  hitherto  undemonstrative 
characters.  When  Ursula  laid  down  a  neglected  needle  to  look 
across  at  the  Domine,  the  old  man  would  jump  up  with  swift 
repression,  and  angrily  bid  her  go  on.  The  days  shortened : 
perhaps  that  made  them  seem  to  pass  so  swiftly,  and  the  ap- 
pointed wedding-morn  drew  near. 

Meanwhile  another  wedding  was  also  announced  as  imminent, 
and  various  members  of  the  Helmont  family  gnashed  their  teeth 
over  the  prospect.  The  whole  of  Drum,  however,  jabbered  fair- 
ly good-natured  approval,  which  is  surely  saying  a  good  deal, 
and  more  than  most  young  couples  can  hope  for. 

"Yes,  Gerard,  it  is  quite  true,"  said  Helena  van  Trossart, 
stopping,  in  a  crowded  ballroom,  a  white  vision  among  the 
glitter  and  hum.  "  You  could  have  assured  yourself  it  was  true 
without  insulting  me  by  the  question."  Her  clear  eyes  flashed. 
"  I  am  going  to  marry  W^illie  van  Troyen." 

Gerard  was  very  hot  —  the  room  was  hot.  "No,"  he  said, 
thickly,  "  I  should  never  have  believed  it,  unless  I  had  heard  it 
from  your  own  lips."  He  drew  a  little  aside,  almost  secure,  yet 
not  quite,  among  the  restless  throng. 

"  I  cannot  make  you  out  at  all,"  he  went  on,  in  great  agita- 
tion;  "I — I  don't  want  to  say  anything,  but — "  He  checked 
himself ;  his  eyebrows  twitched ;  his  whole  face  grew  troubled 
with  suppressed  meaning. 

She  understood  him  perfectly.  For  a  few  moments — perhaps 
half  a  minute — she  remained  quite  silent,  with  eyes  downcast, 
her  bosom  heaving,  her  graceful  figure  a-tremble,  like  her  lips. 
At  last,  amid  the  rhythmic  flow  of  gayety  around,  she  lifted  her 


154  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

solemn  gaze  to  his,  and  spoke  with  slow  distinctness.  "  I  know 
what  you  would  taunt  me  with,"  she  said.  "You  think  me  in- 
consistent. But  in  his  case  it  doesn't  matter.  I  do  not  love 
him." 

And  then  the  room  swam  round  in  a  whirl,  and  she  was  gone. 

After  that  they  were  more  than  ever  unwilling  to  meet.  Yet, 
in  a  little  circle  like  theirs  the  thing  was  unavoidable,  and  Ge- 
rard had  constantly  to  face  what  was  almost  more  painful — the 
tacit  misery  of  the  fat  Baroness,  Helena's  comfortable  aunt,  who 
understood,  with  a  woman's  insight  in  all  such  matters,  that 
everything  ought,  somehow,  to  have  been  different  to  what  it  was. 

The  Baroness  van  Trossart  complained  to  her  husband,  but 
the  Baron  said  that  the  Van  Troyens  were  as  good  a  family  as 
the  Van  Helmonts,  and  he  didn't  see  that  it  mattered. 

"  Personally,"  he  added,  "  I  am  unable  to  perceive  much  dif- 
ference between  the  two  young  men.  They  are  both  fair-com- 
plexioned  and  gentlemanly,  and  ill-mannered,  like  their  compan- 
ions. I  wonder  that  Nellie  should  have  thought  the  exchange 
worth  her  while." 

The  lady  would  have  protested. 

"  My  dear,  I  cannot  help  it.  Had  /  been  consulted  I  should 
have  requested  Helena  to  marry  your  three  nephews  Van  Asveld. 
Their  mother  is  pestering  me  to  find  the  whole  three  of  them 
places  with  a  start  of  two  hundred  a  year.  The  thing  is  impos- 
sible !"  He  coughed  testily,  and  before  his  important  eyes  he 
held  a  blue-book  upside  down. 

Equally  bootless  was  the  Baroness's  attempt  to  seek  refuge 
in  the  sympathy  of  Mademoiselle  Papotier.  That  impenetrable 
Frenchwoman  only  replied, 

"Mon  Dieu,  Madame,  le  mariage  n'est  pas  I'amour!"  taking 
the  name  of  three  holy  things  in  vain  within  one  short  sentence, 
after  the  manner  of  her  race. 

But  one  evening  towards  dusk,  as  Gerard  was  dressing  for 
dinner,  he  heard  some  one  enter  his  little  front  sitting-room,  to 
whom  he  called  out,  into  the  heavy  twilight, 

"  All  right,  old  chap  !  Wait  a  minute  till  I  get  my  shirt  on. 
There's  some  sherry  and  bitters  on  the  sideboard." 


FORFEITS    ALL    ROUND  155 

Presently  he  went  forward  with  his  fingers  at  his  collar-stud. 
In  the  shadow  stood  a  shawl-enfolded  figure  whom  he  thought 
he  recognized. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?"  he  said  ;  "  I  told  the  landlady  to  send 
you  up.  If  you  don't  do  the  things  better  I  must  get  some 
other  woman.  I  believe  you  purposely  wear  holes  in  my  under- 
clothing." 

"  Indeed,  Monsieur,"  came  the  reply  in  French,  "  I  am  most 
anxious  to  wash  your  dirty  hnen,  but.  Monsieur  Gerard,  you 
give  your  family  almost  too  much  of  it." 

"  By  Jove  !"  replied  Gerard.  "  I  say.  Mademoiselle,  wait  a 
minute  till  I — "     He  disappeared. 

Mademoiselle  Papotier  smiled  a  supercilious  smile.  "  Ah, 
que  les  hommes  sont  plaisants,"  she  murmured.  "  Mauvais 
plaisants !"  she  added.  But  when  Gerard  returned  a  few  mo- 
ments later  she  was  boldly  agreeable  to  him,  with  a  smirk 
round  her  slightly  mustachioed  lips. 

"  To  what  am  I  indebted  ?"  began  the  young  officer. 

She  waved  a  little  deprecatory  hand  in  the  neatest  of  gray 
gloves. 

"  A  moment !"  she  said.  "  Can  you  not  spare  me  a  moment? 
I  am  fatigued.     May  I  not  repose  myself  ?" 

Gerard,  ashamed  and  awkward,  hurriedly  pushed  forward  an 
arm-chair. 

"  Ah,  but  sit  you  down  also,"  she  expostulated.  "  Only  the 
disagreeable  says  itself  standing."  Then,  as  he  obeyed,  she 
looked  at  him  with  an  ogle.  "  What  a  handsome  man  you  are  !" 
she  said.  The  words  frightened  Gerard  excessively  but  unnec- 
essarily ;  it  was  only  part  of  Mademoiselle  Papotier's  philoso- 
phy that  you  could  put  every  man  on  earth  into  a  good-humor 
by  broadly  praising  his  looks.  If  Red  Riding-hood  had  said 
to  the  wolf  "  AVhat  fine  teeth  you  have  !"  instead  of  "  What  big 
ones !"  he  would  probably  have  abandoned  his  intention  of  eat- 
ing her. 

"  No  wonder  the  poor  thing  loved  you,"  immediately  added 
the  little  governess,  casting  down  her  eyes.  She  was  hung 
round  with  black  jet  indiscriminately,  and  she  picked  at  it — 
now  here,  now  there. 


156  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Gerard,  as  we  know,  was  not  a  diplomatist.  "  Did  she  ask 
you  to  come  and  tell  me  that  ?"  he  cried,  with  irritable  irony. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  van  Helmont,"  replied  the  Frenchwoman, 
softly,  and  her  swarthy  face  seemed  to  lose  its  vigor,  "  it  is  al- 
ways like  that ;  you  men,  you  knock  at  a  woman's  heart  until  it 
opens,  and  then  you  cry  out  in  scorn  at  the  open  door !"  She 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  still  plucking  at  the  jet.  "  First  the 
beautiful  Ursula,"  she  said,  "  and  then  my  own  sweet  Helena. 
Aye,  Monsieur,  it  is  not  right !" 

"  Ursula  V  cried  Gerard,  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  do  you  think  no  one  knows  ?  Oh,  that  is  like  you  men 
again.  You  can  always  trust  the  woman  you  have  wronged  to 
keep  your  secret.  You  are  safe.  Not  a  word  has  the  noble 
Helena  spoken  ;  but  trust  Papotier  to  see  for  herself." 

"  It  is  not  true,"  said  Gerard,  with  real  fervor.  "  I  have 
never  wronged  a  hair  of  Ursula's  head." 

Mademoiselle  Papotier  blushed,  actually  blushed.  "  The  word 
*  wrongs,'  "  she  said,  "  is  not  easily  defined;  it  has  a  masculine 
and  a  feminine  gender.  Ah,  there  you  behold  the  former 
governess !  One  thing,  however,  I  can  tell  you.  Monsieur  van 
Helmont,  it  is  Mademoiselle  Ursula  and  her  wrongs  that  have 
lost  you  your  bride.  I  repeat,  Helena  has  told  me  nothing  ;  but 
Mademoiselle  Rovers,  and  she  alone,  has  broken  off  your  engage- 
ment." Then  she  went  on  to  tell  her  astounded  listener  about 
the  interview  on  the  garden  seat  which  she  had  watched  from 
her  staircase  window. 

"And  after  that,"  she  concluded,  "  there  was  an  end  of  it. 
My  Helena  would  not  have  the  parson's  daughter's  leavings. 
And  quite  right."     She  shut  up  her  mouth  with  a  snap. 

But  she  opened  it  again  immediately. 

"  Nevertheless,"  she  went  on,  "  I  consider  she  exaggerates. 
Especially  because  she  cared  for  you,  and  your,  previous  belle 
evidently  did  not.  It  is  for  that  I  am  come.  The  step  is 
absurd,  perhaps,  but  what  is  that  to  me  ?  I  am  come  to  say 
the  marriage  with  this  little  rabbit-eye  is  a  farce.  It  must  be 
prevented.  Go  tell  my  Helena  that  there  is  nothing  between  you 
and  the  fiancee  of  your  brother.  Women  are  vain  ;  who  knows 
but  what  this  Ursula  has  lied  ?    You  appear  sincere.     And  I  say 


'^m  ^ 


FORFEITS    ALL    ROUND  157 

one  thing  more,  though  I  should  not.  Mark  me.  Helena  will 
marry  you  if  she  can.  She  is  proud,  poor  little  thing,  as  she 
has  a  right  to  be,  but —  Ah,  these  men,  these  men  !  Then 
you  will  bid  the  little  comrade  go  away  home.  I  do  not  love 
you.  Monsieur  Gerard.  I  do  not  say  these  things  for  love  of 
you.     But  they  are  true." 

She  had  spoken  with  suppressed  vehemence,  she  now  smiled 
a  thin  smile,  and  her  lips  trembled. 

"  1  do  not  know  what  to  say  or  think,"  replied  Gerard,  great- 
ly agitated.  "  Towards  Ursula,  at  least,  I  am  innocent.  What 
interest  can  she  have  had  in  ruining  my  chance  with  Helena? 
Mademoiselle,  you — you  must  really  excuse  me.  I  am  going  out 
to  dinner.    I  shall  be  late  as  it  is  !"    He  started  gladly  to  his  feet. 

She  also  rose,  with  a  great  rustle  of  scorn. 

"Good -night.  Monsieur,"  she  said.  "A  benevolent  fairy — 
remember  there  are  old  fairies — has  shown  you  the  hole  in  the 
hedge ;  will  you  have  the  sense  to  creep  through  unscratched  ? 
Ah,  be  sure  that  I  should  rather  have  barred  your  path  with  my 
body,  but  that  love  cannot  bear  to  see  the  whole  life  of  the 
beauty  benumbed  in  the  wrong  prince's  arms.  Princes,  for- 
sooth !     She  dropped  him  a  courtesy  and  hurried  away. 

He  had  not  even  time  to  sit  down  and  think  it  out.  His  ex- 
cuse had  been  as  imperative  as  it  was  inane.  He  flew  off  to  his 
dinner-party  and  laughed  and  flirted,  wondering  all  the  time 
whether  Ursula  could  possibly  have  had  "a  weakness"  for  him. 
That  seemed  to  be  the  only  possible  explanation.  Evidently  it 
was  Mademoiselle  Papotier's.  Romance,  exaggeration,  these 
were  probable  ;  but  he  could  hardly  believe  in  intentional  spite 
or  untruth. 

And  yet — he  was  very  much  out  of  temper  with  Ursula  for 
her  capture  of  "  that  fool.  Otto."  His  rage  against  his  brother, 
softened  by  time  and  a  capital  new  horse,  melted  still  more  at 
the  thought  that  he  had  wronged  Otto  regarding  Helena.  Ursula, 
then,  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  mischief.  Ursula,  the  design- 
ing intruder ;  the  nobody  who,  one  day,  would  rule  at  the  Horst. 
She  had  always  been  a  subject  to  him  of  kindly  indifference. 
He  Was  angry  with  himself  for  the  violence  of  his  new  passion 
against  her. 


158  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

On  returning  home  he  found  a  note  awaiting  him.  It  con- 
tained only  these  two  quotations,  evidently  from  Papotier's  fa- 
vorite seventeenth-century  romances : 

"  Said  Marcellino :  '  Damaris,  my  brother  is  faithless.  I  can  prove  it  to 
you.  Why,  then,  should  your  heart,  blinded  by  useless  smoke,  still  refuse  to 
perceive  the  flame  that  is  burning  in  mine — i.e.,  heart.'  " 

"Rodelinda  replied:  'Adelgunda, I  thank  you  for  warning  me.  The  lov- 
er that  deserted  you  shall  never  have  an  opportunity  of  trampling  upon  Rode- 
linda's  affections.' " 

"  Exactly,"  said  Gerard,  sighing  heavily.  He  was  very  miser- 
able.    And  then  he  went  to  sleep. 

Meanwhile  Otto  plodded  on,  unconscious  of  the  sins  laid  to 
his  charge  and  to  Ursula's.  The  story  which  Adeline  had 
forced  upon  him  in  the  public  gardens  at  Drum  he  had  folded 
away  on  a  shelf  in  his  memory.  What  else  could  he  do  ?  He 
was  not  the  man  to  influence  Gerard.  We  know  it  was  not 
through  him  that  the  tale  reached  Ursula — or  Helena. 

His  occupations  called  him  away  from  Boxlo  to  Bois-le-Duc, 
the  capital  of  Brabant.  There  he  came  into  frequent  contact 
with  a  cousin,  of  whom  he  had  previously  known  very  little — 
nothing  personally  —  and  regarding  whom  his  parents  would 
hardly  have  cared  to  enlighten  any  one.  This  was  a  young 
Van  Helmont,  who  lived  with  a  widowed  mother,  and  supported 
himself  as  a  post-office  clerk.  The  Helmonts  of  the  Horst  did 
not  object  to  his  poverty,  but  to  his  mother.  To  Otto's  enthu- 
siastic eulogies  the  Baroness  listened  bored.  She  was  too  po- 
lite to  ask  him  to  change  the  subject ;  besides,  perhaps  she  felt 
that  such  a  measure  would  have  proved  quite  useless,  for,  what- 
ever Otto  might  select  to  say,  he  bored  her  by  his  way  of  say- 
ing it.  She  could  only  love  this  son,  not  live  with  him.  She 
rejoiced  with  exceeding  joy  when  Gerard,  whose  character  was 
incapable  of  vindictiveness,  consented  once  more  to  sit  opposite 
to  Otto  at  table.     Still,  the  brothers  held  aloof. 

And  the  wedding-day  drew  near,  overshadowingly  near.  One 
person  delighted  in  that  thought.     Otto. 


CHAPTER  XX 

MYNHEER    MOPIUS's    PARTY 

Mynheer  Jacobus  Mopius  stood  on  the  hearth-rug  in  his 
wife's  bedroom. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  must  admit  this — since  you  have 
taken  to  spending  the  greater  part  of  your  day  up-stairs,  the 
house  has  become  most  insufferably  dull." 

For  Mevrouw  Mopius  this  remark  had  long  ago  lost  all  its 
novelty ;  still,  she  never  grew  to  like  it,  even  while  she  meekly 
answered, 

"Yes,  my  dear,  yes.  I  know.  I  shall  be  better  soon."  And 
she  added,  as  one  of  her  familiar  after- thoughts,  "  Harriet  ought 
to  amuse  you." 

"  Oh,  Harriet  amuses  me  fast  enough,"  retorted  Mynheer 
Mopius,  with  unpleasing  alacrity.  "  But  you'd  soon  be  all  right 
if  you  left  off  remembering  you  were  ill." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  yes,"  repeated  Mevrouw  Mopius,  closing  her 
faded  eyes.  Her  cheeks  were  faded,  her  hair  was  faded,  her 
flannel  dressing-gown  was  faded.  In  the  fading  light,  compla- 
cent Mynheer  Mopius,  looking  down  upon  her,  thought  how  ex- 
cessively faded  she  was. 

"  Only  yesterday,"  Mynheer  continued,  triumphantly,  "  I  pur- 
posely asked  your  doctor  what  was  wrong  with  you.  And  what 
do  you  think  his  answer  was?  He  said  he  really  couldn't  tell. 
There  !"  Mynheer  Mopius  stood  out,  defiant,  protruding  his 
portly  prosperity.     "  He — said — he — really — couldii't — tell.'''' 

It  gave  Mevrouw  Mopius  some  comfort  to  learn  how  literally 
the  physician  fulfilled  the  promise  she  had  extracted  from  him. 

"  And  it's  absurd  to  have  the  whole  house  made  wretched  by 
an  illness  the  doctor  don't  even  put  a  name  to.     If  you're  not 


160  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

down  to  breakfast  to-morrow  I  shall  send  for  a  professor  from 
Amsterdam." 

"  Don't,  Jacobus,"  gasped  the  lady.  "  I'm  feeling  better  to- 
day.    I  really  am.    I  don't  want  no  professors  from  anywhere." 

"  But  I  do.  Sarah,  I  believe  you  enjoy  being  ill.  Thank 
goodness  I  can  afford  to  cure  my  wife." 

"  There's  another  reason,  besides,"  he  added,  after  a  moment, 
"  why  I  want  you  to  hurry  up.  There's  this  wedding  of  Ursu- 
la's coming  on.  They've  behaved  very  badly,  I  know ;  but 
Roderick  was  never  a  man  to  know  about  manners — never  in 
society,  poor  fellow.  However,  I'm  not  one  to  take  offence.  I 
intend  to  give  a  big  party  here  in  the  '  bride-days.'  "  * 

"  Jacobus  !"  exclaimed  his  wife.  "  Why,  we  don't  even 
know  the  Van  Helmonts.    She  hasn't  even  presented  him  here  !" 

"  My  dear,  did  I  not  say  that  Roderick  is  a  boor  ?  Josine 
tells  me  they  have  paid  none  of  the  customary  visits  on  either 
side.  In  one  word,  they  behaved  as  people  who  don't  know  how 
to  behave,  and  I  am  going  to  behave  as  a  person  who  does  know." 

"  But,  Jacobus—" 

"  Ursula  is  my  own  sister  Mary's  child.  My  own  sainted  sis- 
ter Mary's.  And  I  shouldn't  even  give  a  wedding-party  to  my 
own  sister  Mary's  only  child  ?  Sarah,  it  is  all  your  increasing 
indolence.  You  are  prematurely  making  an  old  woman  of  your- 
self. Look  at  me.  I  am  two  years  your  junior,  but  it  might 
be  twenty.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself  ?"  As  he  said  this 
he  arranged  the  rose  in  his  button-hole,  with  a  great  crackle  of 
his  blue-spotted  white  waistcoat.  An  oily  satisfaction  played 
over  the  yellow  smoothness  of  his  cheeks. 

The  truth  of  it  was,  of  course,  that  the  whole  man  burned 
with  eagerness  to  leap,  at  one  rush,  into  the  glories  of  the  great 
world.  The  opportunity  was  unique ;  it  offered  more  than  the 
boldest  could  have  hoped  for;  we  may  well  forgive  his  anxiety. 

Mevrouw  Mopius  lay  in  utter  collapse,  a  crumpled  rag,  against 
one  corner  of  her  great  chintz  chair. 

*'  I  want  Harriet !"  she  said,  faintly.  Her  husband  gave  a 
great  snort  of  contempt  as  he  stalked  from  the  room. 

*  The  fortnight  preceding  the  ceremony. 


161 

A  few  minutes  later  Harriet  entered,  a  novel,  as  usual,  in  her 
dangling  hand. 

"  Harriet,  I  must  have  my  drops,"  exclaimed  the  invalid, 
sharply.  "  The  doctor  said  I  was  to  have  them  every  two  hours. 
And  in  freshly  drawn  water  each  time.  I  told  him  it  couldn't 
be  done.     Doctor,  I  said,  I've  nobody  to  fetch  me  the  water." 

Harriet  busied  herself  about  the  side-table,  mechanically,  and 
in  silence. 

"  '  And  your  niece  V  said  the  doctor,"  Mevrouw  Mopius  con- 
tinued.    "  So  I  had  to  tell  him  you  were  no  good." 

"  Oh,  he  knows  that,"  replied  Harriet.  "  I'm  no  nurse.  I 
can't  look  after  sick  people." 

"  There's  one  person  you'll  nurse,  if  ever  she's  sick,"  replied 
Mevrouw,  with  a  grunt,  swallowing  down  her  medicine.  "  Har- 
riet, do  you  know  the  date  for  which  Ursula's  wedding  is 
fixed?" 

"  Thursday  month,"  curtly  answered  Harriet,  who  just  now 
hated  the  fortunate  bride  with  unreasoning  envy — an  envy  that 
wrung  tears  from  the  lonely  girl  at  night. 

"  What  day  of  the  month  ?"  persisted  Mevrouw,  wearily. 

"  It's  the  twenty-third." 

"  Harriet,  you  must  go  across  to  the  doctor's  for  me.  I  can't 
have  him  here  again  just  yet ;  his  coming  vexes  your  uncle  so. 
You  must  say  to  him  —  listen  —  word  for  word;  you  must  say, 
'  Aunt  bids  me  ask :  Will  uncle  be  able  to  go  to  the  wedding- 
feast  on  the  sixteenth  of  next  month?'  Just  that.  And  you 
must  bring  back  an  answer — yes  or  no.     Go  along." 

"But  the  wedding  is  on  the  twenty -third,"  protested  Har- 
riet, sulkily.     "  And  besides.  Uncle  Mopius  isn't  ill." 

"  Yes  he  is,"  replied  the  invalid,  with  guilty  incisiveness. 
"  You  just  go  and  do  as  you're  told,  and  come  back  with  the 
answer  immediate.  Harriet,  if  you  don't  say  a  word  about  it 
down  -  stairs  —  you'd  only  make  your  uncle  nervous  —  I'll  give 
you  my  Florentine  brooch,  the  mosaic  of  the  two  doves  drink- 
ing.    Now  hurry  away." 

Thus  incited,  Harriet  sulked  off  through  the  stolid  streets. 
If  Mevrouw  Mopius  did  not  send  a  note  to  the  physician,  it  was 
not  only  that  she  felt  physically  and  autographically  inadequate, 
11 


162  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

but  also  because  she  confidently  believed  that  Harriet  would  in 
any  case  have  broken  the  seal. 

The  messenger  soon  reached  her  destination.  A  maid-servant 
admitted  her  into  the  young  doctor's  private  room.  He  was  at 
hmcheon. 

"  My  aunt  sends  me  to  you  on  a  fool's  errand,"  she  began, 
abruptly.  "  This  is  her  literal  message  :  '  There's  a  wedding- 
feast  on  the  sixteenth ' — which  there  isn't — '  will  Uncle  Mopius 
be  able  to  go  V  "  She  hung  her  head  with  affected  accentuation 
of  the  indifference  she  was  really  feeling. 

The  doctor  hesitated  and  looked  curiously  at  her. 

"  I'm  to  bring  back  an  answer — yes  or  no,"  she  added. 

"  Yes  or  no  ?"  repeated  the  doctor.  "  Would  you  mind  say- 
ing it  again.  Miss  Verveen  ?" 

"  There's  a  wedding  entertainment  on  the  sixteenth,"  an- 
swered Harriet,  with  almost  ill-mannered  impatience.  "  Will 
Uncle  Mopius  be  able  to  ffoP^ 

The  young  doctor  studied  his  boots  for  a  minute.  Then  he 
he  said,  slowly  :  "  No  ;  1  believe,  considering  the  circumstances, 
I  may  safely  commit  myself  to  a  *  No.'  As  your  aunt  so  ex- 
pressly wishes  it,  you  must  tell  her  my  opinion  is  '  No.'  "  He 
was  much  annoyed,  but  he  could  not  help  himself.  By  this 
time  he  had  got  somewhat  accustomed  to  Mevrouw  Mopius,  the 
strangest  of  patients,  who  treated  him  like  a  younger  colleague 
called  in  for  a  consultation. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Harriet.  "  I'll  tell  her.  And  now,  please, 
a  little  questioning  on  my  own  account.  What's  the  matter 
with  Uncle  Mopius?" 

"  Nothing,  Juffrouw  Harriet,"  replied  the  young  man,  heart- 
ily, with  sudden  relief.  "  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  assure  you  that 
your  excellent  uncle  enjoys  very  fair  health." 

"  Don't  tell  me  untruths,  if  you  please,"  persisted  the  girl, 
greatly  in  earnest.  "  I  have  very  particular  reasons  of  my  own 
for  desiring  to  know.  What's  wrong  with  him  ?  Why  shouldn't 
he  go  to  a  party — if  there  were  a  party — on  the  sixteenth  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  might  be  a  little  out  of  sorts,  you  know.  You  had 
better  give  your  aunt  her  message.  It  must  be  rather  dull  for 
you  sometimes,  Juffrouw  Harriet,  eh?"     He  cast  an  admiring 


MYNHEER    MOPIUS  S    PARTY  163 

glance  at  her;  he  had  quick,  sympathetic  eyes,  good  doctor's 
eyes. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Harriet ;  but  her  attitude,  grown 
suddenly  listless  again,  belied  her  words.  "  So  you  see  what  a 
fool's  errand  mine  was !  As  for  Aunt  Sarah,  of  course  I  know 
she's  very  ill.  I  which  she  wasn't.  It's  very  hard  on  me.  I 
can't  nurse  invalids,  and  I  hate  to  seem  unkind." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  you  couldn't  be  unkind  to  any  one,"  said  the 
young  man,  sweetly.  It  struck  him  that  his  lunch-table  looked 
very  forlorn.     "  You  couldn't  be,  Miss  Harriet." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  could,"  replied  Harriet,  quickly.  "  I  am  always 
unkind,  for  instance,  to  people  who  call  me  Miss  Harriet,  and 
forget  that  my  name  is  Miss  Verveen." 

The  doctor  laughed  rather  awkwardly  as  she  turned  to  go. 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  he  answered  ;  "  quite  right.  Either 
Juffrouw  Verveen  or — not  Juffrouw  at  all;  I  envy  the  privileged 
few." 

"  So  it's  '  No'  ? "  she  said,  with  her  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

**  So  it's  '  No'  ? "  he  repeated,  boldly,  looking  her  straight  in 
the  face.  But  he  read  his  answer  there,  and  sobered  suddenly, 
as  the  physician  crushed  down  the  lover  in  presence  of  the 
great  tragedy  so  quietly  enacting.  "  Yes,  I'm  afraid  it  must  be 
*No,"'  he  said.  "The  sixteenth,  you  said?  Tell  your  aunt 
I  am  awfully  sorry,  but  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  she  had 
better  think  '  No.'  " 

Harriet  hurried  home  through  the  autumn  grayness  of  the 
sleepy  little  town.  A  peculiar  smile  hung  fixed  upon  her  for- 
bidding features,  a  mixture  of  anxiety  and  content.  She  went 
straight  up  to  her  aunt's  bedroom. 

"  The  answer  is  '  No,'  "  she  said. 

Mevrouw  Mopius  made  no  reply.  She  lay  back,  with  closed 
eyes  and  sunken  jaws,  almost  as  her  niece  had  left  her  when 
sent  forth  upon  this  hideous  errand.  Harriet  flung  herself 
down  on  a  chair,  and  resumed  her  novel.  Presently  she  rose  to 
slip  away. 

Mevrouw  Mopius  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Harriet,  give  me  my  tambour-frame,"  she  said.  Harriet 
obediently  drew  forth  Laban  from  his  cupboard,  and  removed 


1C4  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

the  sheltering  tissue-paper.  "  I  wonder  could  I  do  a  stitch  or 
two,"  said  Mevrouw  Mopius,  dolefully.  She  sat  trying  to  thread 
a  big  needle  with  shaky  fingers.  Harriet  waited  a  moment, 
watching  her. 

"  Let  me  do  it,"  suggested  Harriet  at  last. 

But  Aunt  Sarah  resented  this  interference. 

"  I  wasn't  attending,"  she  said,  angrily  ;  "  I  was  thinking  of 
something  else.  Surely  you  don't  imagine  I  couldn't  thread 
a  needle  ?" 

And  as  she  still  continued  trying,  pitifully,  tremblingly,  her 
niece  turned  impatiently  away. 

"Do  you  know,"  continued  Mevrouw  Mopius,  contemplating 
the  gaudy  flare  of  patriarchs  and  camels,  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing that  I  should  like  to  give  it,  if  I  can  finish  it,  to  Ursula 
Rovers  for  a  wedding  -  present.  She  admired  it  very  much 
when  she  was  here.  She  was  the  only  person  that  ever  ad- 
mired it."    Her  voice  became  quite  sorrowful. 

"Domine  Pock  admired  it,"  said  Harriet,  soothingly. 

"Yes,  after  dining  here !"  exclaimed  the  invalid,  with  a  flash 
of  grim  humor.  "  He  said  Jacob  must  have  had  just  such  a 
face  as  that.  Now,  Harriet,  that  was  flattery.  For  Jacob 
couldn't  have  had  exactly  that  sort  of  face."  Indeed,  had  the 
countenance  of  the  patriarch  blazed  in  such  continuous  scar- 
let, his  uncle  could  never  have  engaged  him  to  look  after 
cows. 

"  Besides,  Pock  doesn't  really  know  about  Jacob's  face,"  con- 
tinued Mevrouw  Mopius,  with  a  sick  person's  insistence,  "  for 
I  asked  him  myself  if  we  had  an  authentic  photograph" — she 
meant  "  portrait " — "  and  he  said  we  hadn't.  Though  we  have 
of  Joseph,  he  said.  It  seems  a  very  great  pity.  I  should  have 
liked  to  do  it  from  the  life." 

Mevrouw  Mopius  sank  into  aggrieved  consideration  of  the 
father's  remissness  about  sitting  for  his  likeness  as  compared 
with  the  foresight  shown  by  the  son. 

"  Yes,  I  should  give  it  to  Ursula  for  her  wedding,"  she  re- 
sumed, after  another  long  pause,  "  unless — " 

She  broke  off. 

"  Unless  what  ?"  prompted  Harriet. 


MYNHEER    MOPIUS's    PARTY  165 

"  Unless  I  should  like  it  for  a  cushion  in  my  coffin.  I  think 
that  might  be  rather  nice." 

"  Aunt !"  exclaimed  Harriet,  in  real  horror,  and  a  sudden 
film  of  feeling  clouded  her  passionate  eyes. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  whatever  is  the  matter  ?"  queried  the  elder 
lady,  calmly.  "  All  of  us  die  some  day,  do  we  not  ?  And  when 
my  time  has  come,  I  should  like  to  carry  away  with  me  my  last 
bit  of  work." 

''Ah,  but  this  is  not  going  to  be  your  last,  you  know," 
comforted  Harriet,  with  the  easy  infatuation  of  the  survivor. 

"  Well,  if  not,  then  Ursula  shall  certainly  have  it,"  Mevrouw 
said,  cheerfully.  "  I  wish  I  were  quite  sure  she  would  put  it, 
as  a  fire-screen,  in  her  drawing-room.  Imagine  my  work  in 
the  drawing-room  at  the  Horst.  I  should  like  that."  She  re- 
sumed her  tender  contemplation  of  the  immovably  staring 
figures.  "I  am  very  tired,"  she  whispered;  "go  down  now  to 
your  uncle,  and  tell  him  the  doctor  says  he  can  have  his  party 
on  the  sixteenth  or  after.  Don't  say  anything  about  my  mes- 
sage ;  your  uncle's  got  a  cold,  but  he  doesn't  want  people  to 
know  it.  There  can  be  no  objection,  however,  to  his  asking 
people  here." 

Poor  woman,  she  prided  herself  on  her  clumsy  diplomacy. 

"  Let  him  get  ready  for  his  party,"  she  reflected.  "  It  will 
keep  him  busy — meanwhile." 

In  the  face  of  Mynheer  Mopius's  blindly  staring  selfishness, 
the  stratagem  w^as  completely  successful.  Plunged  up  to  the 
eyebrows  in  preparations  for  a  gorgeous  entertainment,  which 
was,  of  course,  to  excel  all  similar  ones,  that  gentleman  forgot 
to  notice  his  wife's  condition.  He  would  run  up  to  her  with 
long  descriptions  of  his  arrangements,  to  which  she  listened 
reposefully  for  hours.  When  he  went  down-stairs  again  she 
smiled.     He  was  happy,  and  he  was  letting  her  die  in  peace. 

Soon  Mynheer  Mopius  was  obliged  to  slip  over  to  Horstwyk 
to  consult  with  the  relations  who  had  so  suddenly  increased 
in  importance.  He  found  the  trio  gathered  in  the  Parsonage 
drawing-room  to  receive  him,  and  he  patted  their  heads  all 
round.  He  even  condescended  to  chaff  Josine  about  "  one 
wedding  begetting  another,"  as  they  say  in   Dutch,  and    pro- 


166  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

posed  that  she  should  be  bridesmaid  and  make  up  to  the 
best  man. 

"  I  should  never  marry  my  junior.  I  disapprove  of  such 
matches,"  replied  Josine,  hitting  out,  however  unreasonably,  at 
both  Ursula  and  Mopius. 

"  Well,  we  can't  all  marry  our  twin-sisters,  like  Abraham," 
said  Mopius,  reddening.     "  Can  we,  Roderick  ?" 

"  Sarah  was  Abraham's  half-sister,"  answered  the  Domine, 
wistfully  gazing  out  at  the  placid  sky. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  my  Sarah's  only  six  years  my  senior, 
and  I  made  it  two  the  day  we  married.  I've  done  my  duty 
to  the  old  girl.  Ursula,  I  hope  that  thirty  years  hence  you'll 
be  able  to  say  as  much." 

"  You  married  for  money,"  retorted  Josine.  As  her  niece's 
wedding-day  approached.  Miss  Mopius's  growing  disagreeable- 
ness  became  a  source  of  great  agitation  to  herself.  She  smelled 
at  her  vinaigrette. 

"  Pooh !"  replied  Mopius.  "  If  so,  I  quadrupled  the  sum. 
Don't  be  more  of  a  nuisance  than  you  can  help,  Josine,  or  I 
sha'n't  invite  you  to  my  party." 

"There  are  the  Baron  and  the  Baroness  coming  down  the 
road,"  interposed  Ursula,  watching  her  father's  flushed  face. 

"  Where  ?  Show  me,  Ursula,"  cried  Mopius,  bounding  to 
the  window. 

She  laughed.  "  I  do  believe  they  are  coming  here  !"  she 
cried.    "You  will  have  to  meet  them  now.  Uncle  Jacobus." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  meeting  them,"  replied  Jacobus, 
red  and  important.  "I  was  going  to  ask  them,  of  course,  to 
my  party.     I  have  no  objection  to  the  aristocracy  as  such." 

A  moment  later  he  was  bowing  and  smiling — bowing  what 
he  considered  an  eighteenth-century  bow.  And  the  Baron  was 
expressing  his  delight  at  making  the  acquaintance  of  Ursula's 
uncle,  "  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much."  Furthermore,  Myn- 
heer van  Helmont  spoke  with  admiration  of  Mynheer  Mopius's 
villa,  upon  which  Mynheer  Mopius  replied,  in  the  kindest  manner 
possible,  that  it  was  very  nice,  but  not  as  fine  as  the  Horst. 
He  also  proffered  his  invitation  on  the  spot,  and  the  Baroness, 
smiling  elaborately,  accepted  it,  as  in  duty  bound.    It  was  some 


MYNHEER    MOPIUS  S    PARTY  167 

time  before  her  courteous  husband  consented  to  catch  her  eye, 
and  then  she  immediately  arose.  In  those  few  minutes  the  re- 
tired attorney  had  twice  called  Mynheer  van  Helmont  "  Baron," 
and  several  other  atrocious  things  had  occurred.  *'  How  small 
she  is !  She  needn't  look  so  bumptious !"  thought  Mopius,  as 
the  little  lady  shook  hands.  He  was  telling  her  how  there 
would  be  dancing  at  his  party,  and  he  poked  Josine  in  the 
ribs.  "In  my  young  days  out  at  Batavia,"  he  said,  "I  used 
frequently  to  dance  with  the  Governor-General's  lady.  I  dare 
say.  Baron,  you  remember  Steelenaar,  a  good  Viceroy  in  his 
day  ?"  He  hoped  for  the  honor  of  the  opening  polonaise  with 
her  ladyship. 

''  My  dancing  days  are  over.  Mynheer,"  said  the  Baroness, 
stiffly.  "  I  doubt  whether  I  should  be  able  to  acquit  myself 
properly.  Things  have  changed  so  much  in  society  since  my 
youth." 

''  Ah,  there  you  are  right,  Mevrouvv,"  replied  Jacobus  Mopius 
with  fervor.  *'  Now,  at  the  Drum  Casino,  nowadays — I  am  an 
old  member — you  meet  people  who,  in  your  time,  would  not 
have  dared  to  appear  at  a  public  performance." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  replied  the  Baroness,  taking  leave. 

Husband  and  wife  proceeded  leisurely  homeward.  Presently 
the  Baron  said, 

"  My  dear,  I  cannot  understand  your  caring  so  much.  Surely 
Mynheer  Mopius  is  only  a  continuation  of  Juifrouw  Josine." 

"  I  had  said  nothing,"  replied  the  Baroness,  quickly.  *'  But, 
as  you  broach  the  subject,  I  must  confess  that  I  think  you 
might  have  stayed  half  the  time,  and  showed  a  quarter  the 
courtesy." 

The  Baron  laughed.  "  He  is  Ursula's  single  rich  relation," 
said  the  Baron.  "  I  never  forget  that.  And,  besides,  I  am 
naturally  amiable,  Cecile.     It  is  a  masculine  weakness." 

"  I  hate  money,"  cried  the  Baroness.  "  If  there  were  no 
money  in  the  world  there  would  be  no  vulgarity." 

"  How  sad  that  would  be  for  the  non-vulgar,"  replied  her 
consort.  "  Yes,  he  is  Ursula's  single  '  prospect.'  I  was  aware 
of  the  fact,  but,  of  course,  he  stated  it.  I  had  very  good  rea- 
son to  be  amiable." 


168  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  He  may  live  to  be  a  hundred,"  said  the  Baroness,  petulantly. 

"  Not  he.  His  widow  might,  if  she  were  healthy,  but  she 
happens  to  be  very  ill.  My  dear,  you  put  things  so  roughly  ; 
you  love  money  more  than  I  do.  But  1  hope  he  will  live  to  be 
a  hundred.  If  only  pour  nous  encourager,  nous  autres.  We 
all  ought  to  live  to  be  a  hundred ;  a  hundred  years  isn't  much. 
As  a  rule  it's  the  widows  who  live  on  forever.  We  men  die 
fast  enough." 

"  No,  no  !"  cried  the  Baroness,  drawing  her  arm  through  his. 
"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Theodore ;  I  should  never  survive  you." 

"My  dear,  if  lean,  I  will  give  you  but  little  opportunity.  Do 
not  forget  that,  when  I  depart,  I  must  leave  my  art  treasures  to 
Otto,  not  to  mention  the  Horst." 

They  walked  on,  arm  in  arm,  each  silently  busy  with  his  own 
grave  thoughts. 

'*  Somehow,  I  have  occasionally  imagined  of  late  that  it 
wouldn't  be  for  long."  The  Baron's  voice  suddenly  changed. 
"  But  that's  all  nonsense,"  he  said,  briskly.  >'  It  seems  too  cruel 
to  die  and  leave  it  all." 

He  swept  his  eyes  across  his  fields  and  forests.  His  wife 
pressed  his  hand. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  do  you  object  to  my  lighting  a  cigar  ?" 

When  the  sixteenth  came  round  there  was  no  dancing. 
Mynheer  Mopius  sat  in  a  darkened  room. 

Yes,  Mevrouw  Mopius  had  provokingly  died.  At  the  last 
moment  she  resolved  to  take  her  unfinished  patriarchs  down 
into  the  grave  with  her,  but  she  left  her  collection  of  samples  to 
Ursula,  because  Ursula  had  shown  some  appreciation  of  her 
work. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BARON  VAN  HELMONT 

So  Otto  and  Ursula  were  married  with  all  the  customary 
paraphernalia  of  vulgar  exposure — paraphernalia  which  cause  a 
sensible  man  to  resolve,  as  he  runs  the  gantlet  on  his  way  back 
from  the  pillory,  that  the  first  time  in  his  case  shall  certainly  be 
the  last.  Theirs  was  as  quiet  a  wedding  as  unselfish  people 
can  get — Avhicli  means  that  it  was  not  a  quiet  wedding. 

Their  honeymoon  trip  was  but  an  introduction  to  the  longer 
journey ;  at  Genoa  the  big  Java  steamship  would  meet  them  ; 
meanwhile,  creeping  down  the  Riviera,  they  lingered  for  a  fort- 
night in  that  Paradise  of  Snobbery,  Cannes.  Cannes  is  a 
beautiful  garden,  planted  with  princes ;  what  more  can  be 
desired  by  the  millionaire,  or  by  the  numerous  curs  to  whom 
the  far  scent  of  the  millionaire  is  as  sausage  on  the  breeze  ? 
Other  towns  contain  elements  manifold,  paltry  and  noble ;  ex- 
quisite, sun-wrapped  Cannes  has  nothing  but  the  worship  of 
gold  by  glitter,  and  the  worship  of  glitter  by  gold. 

The  young  couple,  therefore,  passed  through  it  unperceived. 
It  was  only  natural  that  they  should  appear  in  the  "  Strangers' 
List"  as  Monsieur  et  Madame  de  Holmani.  They  held  out 
their  hands  to  nobody,  and  nobody  held  out  his  hands  to  them, 
a  kind  of  negative  Ishmaelism,  which  has  its  advantages,  even 
outside  a  honeymoon. 

To  Ursula,  crossing  simultaneously  the  frontiers  of  Holland, 
home,  and  maidenhood,  this  fortnight  never  assumed  the  cool 
colors  of  reality.  Before  it  could  do  that  it  was  over.  She 
was  back  at  Horstwyk  again,  like  an  awakened  dreamer  in  the 
dusk  of  a  troubled  morning. 

While  the  trip  lasted — on  the  Paris  Boulevards,  ^mong  the 


170  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

orange-groves  of  La  Croisette — the  farewell  peep  of  home  hung 
heavy  before  her  eyes.  She  seemed  to  see  them  all  photo- 
graphed on  the  steps  of  the  Manor-house — the  Baroness,  firm 
set  and  still,  the  Baron  coughing  and  sneezing,  not  from  emo- 
tion, but  from  the  sudden  effects  of  a  violent  cold  which  should 
have  kept  him  away  from  the  ceremony.  And  her  father,  his 
one  arm  drawn  tight  across  the  "  Legion  "  on  his  breast,  his 
eyes  fixed  not  on  his  daughter's  last  appeal  for  a  farewell  ben- 
ison,  but  on  some  far  beyond  of  sunlight  after  storm. 

The  thought  of  Otto  blended  with  the  thought  of  her  father, 
and  over  these,  which  were  her  thoughts  of  love,  lay  ever  the 
thought  of  separation.  Sadness  is  not  a  good  beginning  for  a 
young  wife  who  "  respects  and  admires."  The  Sabines,  under 
similar  circumstances,  actually  consented  to  live  with  their  par- 
ents-in-law. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,"  she  said,  looking  across  the  bay 
to  the  blue-black  of  the  sunset  Esterel.  They  were  on  the  ter- 
race of  their  hotel  at  Californie.  "  Oh  yes,  it  is  very  beauti- 
ful," she  said.  She  spoke  with  that  admission  which  is  a  pro- 
test. There  are  times  when  we  think  that  nature,  like  some 
women,  would  be  all  the  better  for  a  little  less  flamboyant 
beauty,  and  a  little  more  homelinessr. 

"  Java  is  far  more  beautiful  still,"  said  Otto,  encouragingly. 
"  There  is  nothing  in  all  Europe  to  compare  with  Batavia." 

And  then,  for  the  twentieth  time,  Ursula  resolutely  enjoyed 
these  anticipated  glories  of  the  Indies,  for  the  soreness  and  the 
separation  were  in  her  own  soul,  deep  down. 

Had  Otto  been  more  of  a  Mopius,  he  would  never  have 
guessed  at  their  existence.  Hearts  like  Ursula's  understand 
that  a  woman  weds  her  husband's  life. 

Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  the  novelty  of  the  prospect,  by  its 
very  terror,  attracted  and  pleasantly  excited  her.  Still,  unfortu- 
nately, by  nature  she  was  stay-at-home  and  cat-like.  Besides, 
she  had  not  left  her  father  to  himself,  but  to  Aunt  Josine. 

So  while  she  was  telling  herself  how  unearthly  must  be  a 
scene  that  was  even  more  beautiful  than  this  stage  effect  of 
palm-trees  and  white  buildings  against  the  blue  Mediterranean 
flare,  even  while  she  was  schooling  herself  to  this  idea,  her 


BARON    VAN    HELMONT  171 

whole  life  suddenly  changed  with  the  fall  of  a  curtain.  The 
play  stopped  at  the  very  opening,  and  the  audience  went  home 
again.  AH  the  worry  and  the  expectation  and  the  screwing-up 
had  been  superfluous.  How  many  of  us  discover  that,  even 
when  the  lights  go  out  at  the  conclusion  of  the  fifth  act,  instead 
of  in  the  middle  of  the  first. 

"  Poor  people  are  not  poor  in  India  ;  that  is  one  great  ad- 
vantage," Otto  was  saying.  *'  There  is  always  plenty  of  space 
about  one,  in  house  and  garden,  and  even  the  mendicant,  if  a 
white,  drives  a  trap.  But  I  don't  suppose  there  really  are  any 
white  beggars.  You  will  see  how  comfortable  we  shall  be  in  the 
great  veranda  of  evenings,  with  all  the  pretty  things  around  us, 
while  I  sit  telling  you  how  sugar  prices  are  going  up.  Ursula, 
it  will  be  delightful  to  think  we  are  working  for  the  dear  old 
place  at  hohie,  which  is  yours  too  now,  and  must  never  belong 
to  any  one  but  a  Helmont."  His  face  grew  square  as  he  sat 
staring  at  the  black  ridge  of  distant  mountains,  and  then,  sud- 
denly, with  a  man's  embarrassment,  *'  There's  the  little  steamer," 
he  said,  lightly,  "  coming  back  from  the  Lerins." 

The  hotel  concierge  was  going  his  round  on  the  terrace,  lei- 
surely seeking  out  an  occasional  lounger  in  the  still,  perfume- 
laden  sunset,  and  distributing  a  bundle  of  letters.  They  watched 
him  coming  towards  them,  from  their  seat  by  the  balustrade, 
between  two  bowls  of  geranium. 

"  C'est  tout,"  he  said,  holding  out  one  letter. 

"  It's  too  bad  of  them  not  to  write !"  exclaimed  Ursula,  as 
everybody  always  does  on  the  useless,  idle  Riviera. 

Otto  was  looking  at  the  envelope,  holding  it  across  his  out- 
stretched palm,  between  middle  finger  and  thumb.  It  was  ad- 
dressed in  his  Aunt  Louisa's  handwriting  to  "  Otto,  Baron  van 
Helmont." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Ursula,  with  the  impatience  of  the  non-re- 
cipient. 

But  Otto,  Baron  van  Helmont,  sat  staring  at  the  superscription. 
The  first  bell  for  the  table  d'hote  broke  loose,  with  a  sudden  con- 
tinuous clang.  Ursula  rose.  "  I'm  going  up-stairs  for  a  min- 
ute," she  began.  "  If  it  isn't  from  home,  I  suppose  it's  of  no 
importance." 


172  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Otto  shook  himself. 

"  Wait,"  he  said,  and  broke  the  seal. 

The  note  was  brief  enough.  "  Dear  Otto, — Your  father  died 
this  morning  at  half-past  five,  from  pneumonia.  You  know  he 
was  ailing  when  you  left,  but  the  lungs  were  attacked  only  two 
days  ago.  We  are  expecting  you  back.  Your  mother  is  very 
unhappy.  Aunt  Louisa.  —  P.  S.  Your  mother  asked  me  to 
telegraph,  but  I  consider  it  better  to  write." 

Even  by  the  road-side  of  our  selfish  daily  wanderings  we 
cannot  hear  the  voice  of  death  calling  a  stranger  from  his  field- 
work  without  mentally  crossing  ourselves,  suddenly  shocked 
and  sobered.  What,  then,  if  he  enter  the  court-yard  of  our 
hearts?  Although,  perhaps,  he  pause  before  the  inner  door, 
every  chamber,  in  the  horror  of  his  presence,  becomes  to  us  as 
the  innermost. 

Ursula  and  Otto  looked  at  each  other  with  solemn  eyes, 
speaking  little.  The  Riviera  evening  fell  suddenly,  with  its 
wiping-out  of  warmth,  like  the  transition  of  a  Turkish  bath. 
The  whole  gray  seaboard  lay  bleak  and  chill  in  a  shudder  of 
autumnal  decay. 

"  Aunt  Louisa,"  said  Otto,  presently,  "  has  a  prejudice 
against  telegrams,  chiefly,  I  fancy,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
pense." 

Ursula  was  angry  with  the  Freule  van  Borck.  "  She  might 
have  prepared  you  a  little,"  said  Ursula. 

"  Oh,  that  is  her  way.  '  Simple  and  strong,'  you  know.  But 
you  are  mistaken.  She  did  prepare  me."  He  held  out  the  en- 
velope to  his  wife. 

Ursula  blushed  scarlet.  There  seemed  to  her  in  this  brutal 
fact  something  strangely  painful  and  insulting  both  to  them 
and  to  the  dead.  She  could  not  meet  her  husband's  gaze.  She 
shivered.     "  Let  us  go  in.  Otto,"  she  said,  softly. 

As  they  walked  across  the  terrace  he  murmured  aloud, 
<* '  Your  mother  is  very  unhappy.'  Ursula,"  he  added,  "  this 
alters  everything.  We  must  go  back  to-morrow  as  early  as  we 
can." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  unemotionally,  "  I  understand." 

He    did  not  say  anything  more  till   they  had  reached  their 


BARON    VAN    IIELMONT  l73 

own  room.  Then,  as  he  struck  a  light  in  the  dark,  he  began, 
with  averted  face,  looming  large  against  the  shadows : 

"  You  will  like  that,  at  least,  among  all  the  sorrow — the  going 
back !" 

She  tried  to  answer  him,  not  knowing  what,  and  unexpectedly 
burst  into  tears. 

Well,  it's  a  good  thing  that  women  can  weep.  Their  feelings 
are  often  too  complicated  for  words.  The  woman  who  knows 
herself  incapable  of  tears  is  surely  one-third  inarticulate.  But, 
alas,  that  the  act  of  weeping  should  be  so  positively  ugly  !  From 
a  purely  aesthetic  point  of  view  there  is  nothing  more  regret- 
table in  connection  with  the  Fall  of  Man. 

No  further  news  from  home  reached  the  young  Baron  and 
Baroness  during  their  hurried  flight  northward.  They  them- 
selves were  quite  incapable  of  fathoming,  even  from  the  most 
materialistic  point  of  view,  the  magnitude  of  the  change  which 
had  come  over  their  prospects.  Otto  trembled  to  think  in  what 
condition  he  might  find  his  father's  affairs.  Only,  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  the  Indian  plan  would  have  to  be  definitely  abandoned 
on  account  of  the  estates  at  home. 

The  Domine  met  the  pair  at  the  little  Horstwyk  station,  and 
as  Ursula  put  her  arm  round  her  father's  neck,  she  dimly  real- 
ized that  selfishness  is  man's  sole  virtue,  as,  in  fact,  it  is  his 
only  vice. 

She  could  reahze  it  all  the  more  in  the  shuttered  mansion, 
which  seemed  to  lie  as  a  waste  round  that  one  locked  door  of  the 
widow's  boudoir.  In  the  dining-hall,  surrounded  by  candles, 
stood  the  coflSn,  awaiting  the  heir.  All  the  house  and  the 
village  and  their  surroundings  seemed  full  of  a  subdued  eager- 
ness to  bury  the  past  and  welcome  the  present.  The  library 
table  was  covered  with  carefully  addressed  letters  and  cards. 

Gerard  was  absent.  Only  the  Freule  van  Borck  came  for- 
ward, with  hushed  step,  to  greet  them  in  the  gray  lonehness  of 
the  flowerless  hall. 

"  My  dears,"  she  said,  sententiously,  "  you  might  have  spared 
yourselves  the  shame  of  running  away." 


CHAPTER    XXII 
Gerard's    share 

So  the  old  Baron  slept  in  the  church-yard  under  the  shadow 
of  the  "Devil's  Doll,"  which  he  himself  had  erected  on  the  grave 
of  his  children.  Opposite,  outside  the  chancel-wall,  shone  dully 
the  great  slab  which  marked  the  entrance  to  the  family  vault, 
heavy  with  the  single  name  "  De  Horst."  The  word  suggested 
a  "  dependance "  of  the  Manor-house ;  hither  came  for  more 
permanent  residence  the  successive  sojourners  at  the  larger 
hostel.  It  was  the  widow  who,  waking  from  her  lethargy,  had 
demanded  separate  sepulture  for  her  dear,  dead  lord,  to  Otto's 
tacitly  disapprobatory  regret. 

She  had  summoned  her  elder  son  into  the  dusk  of  her  si- 
lenced chamber,  and  speaking  softly  from  amid  the  solemn 
blankness  of  her  loss,  "  I  want  your  father  to  lie  in  the  sun- 
shine," she  said,  "  and  I  wish  them  to  make  the — the — in  such  a 
manner  that  every  possible  sunbeam  shall  fall  straight  across  it." 

Then,  before  Otto's  unspoken  demur :  "  He  always  had  a 
horror  of  the  vault;  he  never  would  enter  it  once  during  his 
whole  lifetime.  And,  Otto,  all  his  life  long  he  detested  cold. 
In  the  end  it  has  killed  him."  She  began  to  cry.  Her  chil- 
dren had  found  her  greatly  changed,  quite  broken  down  and 
feeble. 

"  Cecile  cannot  even  take  comfort  by  contemplating  the 
beauties  of  adversity,"  said  Freule  van  Borck,  crossly.  "  Surely 
she  might  understand,  in  the  midst  of  her  legitimate  tears,  that 
sorrow  is  a  great  educator.  She  perversely  persists  in  eluding 
the  blessings."  The  Freule  did  not  understand  that  her  sister's 
soul  was  a  plant  of  God's  conservatory,  a  blossom  which  could 
only  drop  off  before  the  east  wind. 


1V5 

Work  had  to  be  done,  however,  and  some  one  must  do  it. 
Otto  soon  recognized,  with  anticipated  acquiescence,  that  his 
father's  affairs  had  been  left  in  utter  confusion.  The  confusion, 
however,  was  of  the  orderly  kind.  There  had  been  a  certain 
amount  of  method  in  the  Baron's  madness  ;  only,  unfortunately, 
there  had  been  a  good  deal  more  madness  in  his  method.  He 
had  evidently  entertained  to  the  full  an  honest  gentleman's  dis- 
trust of  all  commercial  and  industrial  undertakings,  and  had 
added  thereto  a  contempt  for  all  usury  and  money-lending.  To 
paper  investments  he  would  have  nothing  to  say.  Every  penny 
he  possessed  he  had  sunk  in  land  or  curios. 

Also  he  had  made  a  will,  an  unwise  thing  for  any  man  to  do. 
In  that  entanglement  of  spoliation  which  we  have  glorified  by 
the  beautiful  name  of  "jurisprudence,"  any  personal  effort 
towards  equity  is  only  another  welcome  knot  to  the  lawyer's 
hand. 

The  Baron's  will  disinherited  his  younger  and  favorite  son  so 
far  as  Dutch  law  permits  parents  to  disinherit,  which  means 
that  Gerard  would  be  entitled  to  exactly  one-third  of  the  prop- 
erty as  against  two-thirds  for  Otto.  Furthermore,  the  testator 
expressed  a  hope  that  his  wife  would  allow  all  her  claims  on 
his  estate  to  be  met  by  an  equivalent  transfer  of  art  treasures, 
and  that  she  would  preserve  these  unsold. 

The  dead  man's  object  was  plain  enough ;  while  unable  to 
stint  himself,  he  yet  desired  to  achieve  the  retention,  after  his 
decease,  of  the  status  quo.  That  is  not  an  easy  thing  in  Hol- 
land, where  modern  law,  following  the  Napoleonic  precedent, 
aims  at  the  destruction  of  hereditary  wealth.  The  Baron  openly 
avowed  his  intentions  in  the  last  sentence  of  his  brief  testa- 
ment ;  "  I  hope,"  he  wrote,  "  that  my  children  will  always  re- 
tain the  Horst  intact  as  I  leave  it.  Otto  must  do  this ;  1  believe 
he  has  it  in  him.  I  have  ultimately  succeeded,  after  infinite 
pains,  in  restoring  the  whole  property  as  it  was  at  its  largest  in 
1672.  I  trust  that  neither  Otto  nor  Gerard  will  ever  consent  to 
part  with  a  rood  of  it.  They  will  rather  suffer  privation,  as  I 
have  done." 

The  Baron's  way  of  "  restoring "  had  been  a  simple  one. 
Whenever  opportunity  offered,  he  had  bought  such  alienated 


176  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

lands  as  fell  open,  often  paying  a  fancy  price,  the  money  for 
which  he  procured  by  mortgaging  other  property.  Nominally, 
therefore,  his  landed  estate  was  a  very  large  one,  much  of  it 
being  encumbered,  more  depreciated.  As  for  "  suffering  priva- 
tion " — he  had  never  bought  a  Corot. 

Evidently  he  had  distrusted  Gerard,  and  felt  confidence  in 
intractable  Otto.  The  strangest  thing  about  it  all  was  that  he, 
with  his  fear  of  death,  should  ever  have  summoned  up  courage 
to  make  a  will  at  all.  To  Otto  this  fact,  more  than  anything 
else,  revealed  how  intensely  his  seemingly  shallow  father  must 
have  loved  the  home  of  his  race. 

And  the  discovery  brought  them  nearer  now  in  their  sep- 
aration, the  dead  lord  and  the  new  one.  Baron  Theodore's 
ambition  was  one  such  as  this  son  could  appreciate ;  the  sud- 
den self-reproach  of  undue  contenjptuousness  caused  Otto  to 
veer  round  to  the  other  extreme  of  veneration.  He  resolved, 
under  this  first  impulse,  that,  come  what  may,  his  father's 
decree  should  be  to  him  a  holy  trust. 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Dowager  Baroness,  relapsing  imme- 
diately into  her  continuous  mood  of  mournful  indifference. 
But  Gerard  demurred. 

"  I  must  have  my  share  in  money,"  said  Gerard.  "  I  can't  help 
myself.  Besides,  what  did  father  mean  ?  The  property  can't 
be  said  to  remain  intact  if  one  man  owns  two-thirds  of  it  and 
another  man  the  remaining  third.  Enough  of  the  land  must  be 
sold  to  give  me  my  share  in  cash." 

"  None  of  the  land  can  be  sold,"  replied  Otto.  He  wore  his 
dogged  face.  The  two  brothers  were  together  by  the  library 
table.  In  the  distant  bay-window  of  the  smoking-room  Aunt 
Louisa  had  fallen  asleep  over  a  book. 

"  Keep  the  land,  if  you  like,  or  know  how.  I  don't  mind  as 
long  as  I  get  my  money.  You  are  executor.  Otto ;  pay  me  my 
share." 

"  Do  you  wish,"  asked  the  young  Baron,  just  a  trifle  dramat- 
ically, "to  ignore  our  dead  father's  commands?" 

"  No,  indeed.  No  more  than  you,"  replied  Gerard,  with 
honest  disdain.  The  tinge  of  melodrama  irritated  him.  The 
unfairness  of  his  treatment  irritated  him.     But  the  inherent 


%. 


Gerard's  share  177 

absurdity  of  the  testamentary  instructions  was  what  tormented 
him  most. 

"  Father's  wish  was  to  let  me  have  as  little  as  possible,"  he 
continued.  "  So  be  it.  But  your  wish  is  evidently  to  let  me  have 
nothing  at  all."     Both  of  them  waited  a  moment,  in  bitterness. 

''  And  " —  Gerard  ground  his  heel  energetically.  "  I'm  not 
going  to  stand  that."  Then  he  said,  in  quite  a  diiferent  tone, 
"  Simply,  to  begin  with,  because  I  can't." 

"  Of  course  you  have  debts,"  said  Otto,  sitting  down  by  the 
writing-table. 

"  Of  course,"  repea-ted  Gerard,  with  a  pardonable  sneer  at 
his  immaculate  brother.  "  But  it's  not  that,  all  the  same — at 
least,  not  so  much." 

He  paced  half-way  down  the  room  and  back  again.  Sudden- 
ly both  brothers  heard  the  ticking  of  the  clock. 

"  You  wrong  me.  Otto,  as  usual,"  said  Girard,  in  a  broken 
voice.  "  I  am  as  anxious  as  you  are  to  do  whatever's  right. 
But  I  can't  help  myself.  I  may  as  well  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it.  I  must  have  the  money.  You'll  think  me  an  unmitigated 
fool,  but,  then,  you  think  that  already." 

He  hesitated  a  moment ;  Otto  did  not  move. 

"  Two  years  ago,"  Gerard  went  on,  huskily,  "  I  became  surety 
for  a  chum  of  mine — never  mind  his  name ;  he's  dead,  poor 
chap — and  I've  got  to  pay." 

"Surety!  Surety!"  stammered  Otto.  "How?  What? 
What  kind  of  surety  ?" 

"  It  was  a  debt  of  honor,  between  gentlemen.  And  I've  got 
to  pay." 

"  Of  course — a  card  debt.  I  understood  as  much,"  said  Otto, 
self-righteously. 

"It  was  not  my  card  debt,"  retorted  Gerard,  feeling  his 
wrongs  more  acutely  than  ever,  for,  as  we  are  aware,  he  was 
not  a  gambler.  "  It  happened  playing  with  strangers,  and  quite 
unexpectedly  it  grew  into  an  enormous  sum.  For  him,  next 
morning,  it  meant  pay  or  shoot  yourself.  He  wanted  it  to 
mean  '  Shoot  yourself,'  but  I  stopped  that  just  in  time  and 
made  it  mean  'pay — some  day  or  other.'  So  pay  we  must. 
The  responsibility  is  mine." 

12 


IVS  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

He  stopped,  staring  with  solemn  eyes,  back  through  the 
misty  past,  into  what  had  been,  till  now,  the  most  dramatic  oc- 
currence of  his  life.  He  remembered  his  awakening,  the  day 
after  the  gambling-bout,  to  the  troubled  consciousness  that  he 
must  hurry  at  once  to  his  friend.  He  remembered  the  room  as 
he  burst  into  it :  the  table  with  the  despondent  figure  sitting 
there,  the  pistol  waiting,  ready  loaded.  These  things  were 
sacred ;  he  was  not  going  to  speak  of  them  to  Otto. 

"  I  cannot  understand  any  human  being  accepting  your  se- 
curity ;"  the  elder  brother's  tone  was  sceptical  to  a  degree  of 
provocation.  "  But,  at  any  rate,  the  other  man  and  his  people 
must  pay." 

"  He  is  dead,"  repeated  Gerard,  gently.  "  Had  he  lived,  he 
would  have  been  perfectly  well  able  to  do  so;  we  both  knew 
that,  or  I  don't  think  he  would  ever  have  allowed  me  to  incur 
the  risk.  It  wasn't  much  of  a  risk,  as  I  told  him  at  the  time. 
He  was  sole  heir  to  a  stingy  old  aunt ;  he  died  before  her,  and 
all  her  money's  gone  to  charities.  So  you  see  I'm  fully  liable. 
It's  exceedingly  unfortunate,  but  it  can't  be  helped." 

"Even  admitting  all  this,"  began  Otto,  feeling  his  unwilling 
way,  "you  are  not  really  liable.  The  law  does  not  recognize 
gambling  liabilities.  They  are  not  recoverable."  He  stumbled 
over  his  sentences,  thinking  aloud. 

"  Law  !"  exclaimed  Gerard.  "  Law  !  I  was  thinking  of  the 
other  extreme — honor." 

"And  you  were  a  minor  at  the  time, besides.  Neither  legally, 
nor  should  1  say  morally,  responsible.  It  must  been  an  act  of 
madness."  He  gazed  in  front  of  him,  troubled,  questioning, 
full  of  incertitude. 

"  I  thought  you  understood,"  said  Gerard,  haughtily,  "  that  it 
was  an  affair  between  gentlemen.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with 
moral  or  legal  responsibility."  He  stood  still.  "  I  bound  my- 
self to  meet  this  claim,  if  able,  when  called  upon.  The  trust  is 
a  sacred  one.  By  accepting  it  I  saved  my  dead  friend's  life." 
Even  amid  the  deep  seriousness  of  his  mood  he  smiled  at  the 
Irishism,  just  as  his  father  would  have  done.  "  I  am  not  going 
to  desert  him  now." 

"Gerard,  God  knows  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything  ungen- 


179 

tlemanly,"  cried  Otto,  despairingly.  "  I  am  only  thinking.  Let 
me  think.  You  say  the  sum  is  an  enormous  one.  What  do 
you  call  enormous  ?"  His  voice  trembled  with  apprehen- 
sion. 

"  It's  ninety  thousand  florins,  if  you  want  to  know,"  replied 
Gerard,  in  a  moody  murmur.  The  sombre  room  grew  very  si- 
lent. Outside 'the  window  nearest  them  a  sparrow  was  pecking, 
pertly,  at  the  sill. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Otto,  scornfully,  "  I  thought  you  had 
ruined  yourself;  it  seemed  so  natural.  I  understood  it  at 
once,  and  that  made  me  look  round  for  the  tiniest  loophole 
of  possible  escape.  Gerard,  it  seems  to  me  you  have  but  the 
choice  of  dishonors.  Against  the  memory  of  your  friend  I  pit 
that  of  your  father.  You  cannot  possibly  do  justice  to  both." 
He  was  desperate,  feeling  the  hopelessness  of  compromise. 

"  The  will  is  absurd  !"  burst  out  Gerard — "  absurd  !  He  can- 
not have  meant  it  absolutely,  only  as  far  as  was  practicable.  Do 
you  really  want  to  make  out  that  he  intended  both  of  us  to 
starve,  in  the  midst  of  our  acres  of  corn-fields?  I  won't  be- 
lieve it ;  and  if  he  did,  why,  poor  father  must  have  been  under 
some  momentary  delusion !  Wills  are  always  taken  to  be  bind- 
ing so  far  as  circumstances  will  allow.  Our  father  meant  us  not 
to  sell  more  of  the  land  than  was  absolutely  necessary.  He 
meant  us — " 

Otto  faced  round.  "  I  understand  perfectly  what  our  father 
meant,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  roll  of  suppressed  thunder 
through  his  patient  words.  "  To  me  his  aspirations  do  not  seem 
unreasonable  or  absurd.     They  are  my  own." 

*'  I  dare  say,"  cried  Gerard.  "  You  are  the  lord  of  the  Horst, 
and  the  larger  the  property  is,  the  pleasanter  for  you  !" 

"  Gerard,  you  may  accuse  me  of  the  most  sordid — " 

"  I  accuse  you  of  nothing.  Pray  let  us  have  no  recrimina- 
tions ;  we  do  not  understand  each  other  well  enough  for  any- 
thing of  that  kind.  x\ll  I  say  is  this,  and  I  shall  stick  to  it— I 
must  have  my  share  in  ready  money.  Can't  you  see  I  must  ?  If 
I  were  to  go  to  the  other  fellow — the  fellow  that  won — and  say, 
*  My  father  won't  have  any  of  the  land  sold,'  he'd  think  I  was 
shirking,  after  all  these  years.     Imagine  that !     He'd  think  I 


180  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

was  shirking !  The  time  would  have  come  for  me  to  decide  be- 
tween '  paying  or  shooting.'  Otto,  if  father  were  alive,  he'd  un- 
derstand that  better  than  you  do.  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  explain 
it  to  him  ;  he'd  want  only  half  a  word.  He'd  be  the  first  to  say, 
'  Settle  the  matter  at  once.'  "  The  young  man  was  violently 
agitated.  He  tried  vainly  to  steady  his  features.  He  had 
loved  his  father  with  ready,  easy  affection.  It  was  a  cruel 
wound  to  him  to  bear  the  appearance  of  showing  less  filial  piety 
than  Otto ! 

"  Ninety  thousand  florins,"  repeated  the  elder  brother,  as  if 
not  heeding  the  other's  passion.  "  You  were  mad.  You  never 
could  have  raised  the  money  till  father's  death.  What  a  specu- 
lation !" 

"  Who  knows,"  replied  Gerard,  stung  to  the  quick.  "  At 
this  moment,  but  for  you,  the  sum  might  have  seemed  to  me 
a  trifle.  Do  not  you,  of  all  persons,  reproach  me  with  my  pov- 
erty. I  should  have  been  a  rich  man  at  this  moment  but  for 
you." 

"  But  for  me  ?"  exclaimed  Otto,  in  blank  amazement. 

"Yes,  but  for  you,"  Gerard  continued,  wildly.  "  It  was  you 
who  told  Ursula  about  Adeline,  as  if  any  man  ever  betrayed 
another,  even  his  enemy,  to  a  woman  !  But  your  ideas  about 
honor  and  dishonor,  which  you  bring  forward  so  frequently,  are 
certainly  not  mine."  Gerard  stopped,  eying  his  brother  curi- 
ously. "  Is  it  possible  you  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  that  Ursula 
told  Helena?" 

"As  you  allude  to  the  disgraceful  story  yourself,"  replied 
Otto,  in  a  dull  voice,  "  I  may  as  well  assure  you  that  I  have 
never  spoken  of  it  to  any  one.  Ursula  knows  nothing  about  it. 
Nor  am  /  to  blame  if  Helena  does." 

However  Gerard  might  have  misunderstood  his  brother,  he 
implicitly  believed  him.  All  his  anger  turned  against  the  wom- 
an who  had  ruined  his  matrimonial  prospects,  while  herself  grab- 
bing, by  any  means,  even  including  advertisement,  at  the  first 
husband  she  could  catch. 

"  Then  it  was  Ursula,  and  Ursula  alone,"  he  said,  "  who  would 
not  let  me  marry  Helena."  He  forcibly  curbed  himself  on  the 
brink  of  accusation,  true  to  the  chivalry  he  had  just  enunciated ; 


GERARD  S    SflARE  181 

but  his  brow  grew  dark  with  meaning.  And,  seeking  sudden 
relief  in  permissible  insult,  "  My  Lady  Nobody  !"  he  cried,  with 
an  impudent  laugh. 

Otto  rose.  "  Our  discussion  ends  here,"  he  said.  "  Leave  the 
room.     I  will  get  you  the  money  somehow." 

Ho  sank  back  a  moment  later,  listening  to  Gerard's  retreat- 
ing footsteps.  Gerard,  then,  had  been  about  to  marry  Helena, 
and  Ursula  had  told  Helena  something  which  had  prevented 
the  match.  It  must  have  been  something  very  serious  in- 
deed. 

He  shook  off  the  thought.  How  should  he  meet  his  brother's 
claim.     It  is  easy  enough  to  say,  "  I  shall  pay." 

Why  not  sell  a  large  part  of  the  land,  which,  after  all,  was 
Gerard's  and  not  his  ?  Let  Gerard  do  what  he  liked  with  his 
own.  Theoretically,  that  was  plain  enough.  But  when  it  came 
to  deciding  what  to  abandon — and  a  good  deal  would  have  to 
go — common  sense  began  to  look  strangely  impossible  in  the 
new  Baron's  eyes.  He  could  not  cut  up  the  property.  He 
wished  his  father  had  not  made  him  executor. 

He  judged  his  young  brother  not  only  harshly,  but  unfairly. 
He  could  feel  nothing  for  the  generous  impulse  which  had 
brought  down  upon  itself  such  magnificent  ruin.  Most  of  us 
imagine  we  recognize  virtue  when  we  see  it ;  in  reality  we  only 
recognize  our  own  peculiar  form. 

"  There  is  no  money,"  said  Otto,  fiercely,  and  he  groaned 
aloud. 

Aunt  Louisa  came  gliding  in  through  the  open  smoking-room 
door.  Her  features  were  sharper  than  ever  in  her  smooth  black 
dress. 

"  That  is  a  very  bad  story,  indeed,  about  Adeline,"  she  said, 
speaking  in  a  series  of  bites.     Otto  looked  up  interrogatively. 

"  Oh,  of  course  I  know  all  about  it,"  continued  the  Freule, 
who  had  known  nothing  up  to  this  hour.  "Adeline  is  an  actress, 
or  singer,  or  something  low.  Nevertheless,  I  think  Helena  van 
Trossart  has  behaved  like  a  fool.  A  strong  woman  lives  down 
all  her  husband's  love-stories."  She  blinked  her  eyes.  "Any 
woman  can  manage  any  man,"  she  said.  "  /  never  considered 
the  game  worth  playing  " — which  was  true. 


182  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  But  it's  best  to  know  about  these  things  beforehand,"  she 
went  on.  "  That's  why  I  told  you  about  Ursula  and  Gerard. 
Afterwards  they  come  as  an  unpleasant  surprise,  while,  before 
marriage,  one  simply  laughs  at  them.  Helena  ought  to  have 
thanked  Ursula  for  frankly  confessing  to  a  passing  flirtation 
with  Gerard.  Instead  of  that,  she  goes  and  breaks  off  her  en- 
gagement. Inane  !  We  can't  all  marry  first  affections,  as  your 
poor  mother  thinks  she  did.  But  Helena  van  Trossart  was  al- 
ways a  poor,  weak,  fanciful  creature." 

"It  is  not  that,"  thought  Otto.  "Women  never  object  to  a 
prior  flirtation."  He  looked  up  again,  dumbly,  to  see  whether 
his  aunt  would  continue  to  use  her  gimlet. 

"  However,  there's  no  help  for  it  now,"  cried  the  Freule 
Louisa,  changing  her  tone.  "  The  marriage  would  have  been 
the  best  thing  for  all  parties,  and  that's  why  it's  not  to  take 
place.  So  don't  let's  talk  of  it.  But  the  money  must  be  found 
at  once.     So  let's  talk  of  that." 

"  It  can't  be  found,"  muttered  Otto,  wishing  his  aunt  wouldn't 
interfere,  and  very  angry  with  her  for  eavesdropping. 

"  *  Can't '  is  a  man's  word,"  replied  the  Freule  van  Borck. 
"  Your  poor  father  used  to  say  it  whenever  he  didn't  want  to 
do  anything.  You  say  it  when  you  want  to  do  anything  very 
much.  The  symptoms  are  different,  but  the  disease  is  the 
same — masculine  incapacity.     A  woman  says,  *  I  will.'  " 

"  Then  I  wish  some  woman  would  say  it,"  retorted  Otto. 

His  aunt  smiled.  "  You  are  so  literal,"  she  said.  "  You 
never  can  enjoy  the  plastic  beauty  of  a  theory.  And,  Otto,  in 
one  thing  I  entirely  disagree  with  you.  Gerard's  action  was  a 
great  one.  However  unfortunate  for  us,  it  deserves  our  ab- 
stract admiration.  Yes,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say ; 
but  you  are  wrong.  Few  natures  in  our  little  world  are  capable 
of  such  splendid  recklessness.  I,  for  one,  applaud  it — from  a 
distance.  Imagine,  in  this  nineteenth  century,  a  man  who  will 
sacrifice  his  all  for  a  friend  !" 

"  He  hasn't  ruined  you.  Aunt  Louisa,"  said  Otto. 

"  I  am  not  worth  ruining,"  she  answered,  quickly,  meekly. 
"  But,  Otto,  I  was  coming  to  that.  I  am  poor,  as  you  know — 
very  poor."     She  grew  suddenly  nervous  and  sat  down,  trem- 


183 

bling,  in  a  big  leathern  chair.  "  But  I  have  this  advantage  over 
you  rich  people,  that  my  money  is  where  I  can  get  at  it,  in  the 
funds.  Vm  not  going  to  give  it  to  Gerard,"  she  said,  racing 
off  sharp  and  fast.  Her  cheeks  grew  pink.  She  was  exceed- 
ingly frightened,  as  many  women  are  whenever  they  allude  to 
finance.  "  I  couldn't  do  that  and  starve,  now  could  I  ?  But  I'll 
lend  it  to  you  on  the  property.  Otto,  to  pay  him  off.  You'll 
fasten  it  on  the  property  and  give  me  a  pawn-ticket,  won't 
you?  And  I'll  let  you  have  it  on  easy  terms,  because  I  admire 
Gerard's  action  and  —  and  yours  also.  I'm  proud  of  my  neph- 
ews." She  paused,  out  of  breath,  and  aimlessly  stroked  her 
dress." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Otto,  with  his  reflective  reserve.  But  the 
fervor  of  his  tone  quite  satisfied  Aunt  Louisa. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  preparing  to  hurry  away.  *'  The  estate 
must  be  kept  together.  I  insist  upon  that.  For  I  can't  have 
other  people  intruding  upon  my  Bilberry  Walk,  and  that  would 
be  the  first  to  go.  But,  Otto,  you  must  let  me  have  some  in- 
terest, or  else  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  pay  you  my  *  keep.'  "  There- 
upon the  Freule  departed,  fluttered  with  the  consciousness  of 
a  heroic  atmosphere  all  round  and  but  little  discomfort  to  her- 
self. She  had,  indeed,  behaved  bravely,  for  scraping  was  the 
sole  diversion  of  her  life,  and  she  imagined  somehow  that  a 
mortgage  at  four  per  cent,  was  a  very  great  sacrifice  indeed. 
In  common  with  many  people  who  greatly  admire  great  deeds, 
she  liked  to  do  her  own  great  deeds  small. 

At  any  rate.  Otto  felt  immensely  relieved  for  the  moment  by 
the  certainty  that  the  money  would  be  forthcoming.  He  went 
in  search  of  Ursula,  whom  he  found  playing  on  a  sofa  with  his 
father's  great  smooth  St.  Bernard.  Ursula's  opening  days  were 
long  in  this  new  home  of  which  she  had  become  the  mistress. 
Everything  was  as  yet  in  the  listless  uncertainty  of  a  not-disor- 
ganized transition.  The  Dowager  Baroness  had  nowise  resigned 
the  keys,  while  occupying  herself  with  nothing  in  the  privacy 
of  her  own  bereavement. 

"  Dearest,"  said  Otto, ''  why  did  you  not  tell  me  about  Helena 
and  Gerard  ?" 

Ursula  blushed. 


184  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

*'  Because  it  was  a  secret,"  she  replied,  hotly.  "  I  told  no- 
body, Otto." 

"  Nobody  ?" 

"  Nobody  but  my  father.  Has  Gerard  spoken  of  it  ?  How 
much  has  he  told  you  ?" 

She  looked  at  hira  anxiously,  scarlet  with  the  soilure  of 
Gerard's  sin. 

He  misread  her  distress. 

"  Oh,  very  little,"  he  said.  "  Make  yourself  easy.  I  don't 
want  to  know  any  more." 

She  sprang  forward  to  him,  the  great  dog  entangled  in  her 
skirts. 

"  Otto,"  she  said,  pleadingly,  "  you'll  let  by-gones  he  by-gones, 
won't  you — now  ?" 

She  was  thinking  of  the  reconciliation  between  the  brothers 
for  which  her  whole  heart  yearned. 

She  frightened  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried.  "  Yes,  if  Gerard  goes  away.  That  is  all  I 
demand.      You  must  ask  Gerard  to  go  away." 

"I?"  She  drew  herself  up.  "No,  indeed,"  she  said.  "You 
are  lord  of  the  Horst.  It  is  you  who  must  forbid  your  brother 
the  house,  if  you  wish  him  to  leave  it." 

As  he  turned  to  go  she  ran  after  him,  and  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm. 

"  Only  don't  let  it  be  for  my  sake,  dear,"  she  pleaded,  re- 
calling Gerard's  initial  insult,  and  continuous  cold  hostility, 
to  herself.  "Do  not,  I  entreat  you,  let  me  be  the  cause  of 
further  discord  between  you.  Gerard  will  forget  the  past,  and 
I  will  ignore  it.  And  even  if  do  not,  I  am  strong  now,  in 
your  love,  to  face  the  future  with  confidence.  Otto,  1  implore 
you,  do  not  send  him  away  for  my  sake." 

"  Oh  no,  for  my  own,"  exclaimed  Otto,  and  broke  away  from 
her. 

She  came  back  to  the  dog,  completely  unconscious  of  all 
complications  except  the  old  quarrel  between  her  husband  and 
his  brother. 

It  weighed  upon  her;  she  regretfully  felt  that  she,  in  her 
innocence,  was  chiefly  to  blame  for  it.     Gerard  had  deeply  re- 


Gerard's  share  185 

sented,  and  still  continued  to  resent,  the  marriage  of  the  head 
of  the  house  to  the  parson's  daughter.  Compared  to  this,  the 
quarrel  about  the  horse  was  only  a  passing  cloud,  and  even 
that  would  not  have  arisen  but  for  her.  Men  of  the  world, 
she  felt  bitterly,  could  desert  Adelines,  but  they  could  not 
marry  Ursulas.  It  is  true ;  more  than  that — only  she  did  not 
know  it  —  men  of  the  world  can  offer  to  marry  Adeline,  and 
never  forgive  their  brother  for  marrying  Ursula.  We  can  do 
all  that,  we  men.  It  is  our  privilege,  because  we  are  thinking 
creatures. 

Just  now,  Ursula  felt  that  her  only  duty  in  the  great  house 
was  to  comfort  the  dog.  Monk  was  an  institution  at  the 
Manor ;  he  had  been  that  ever  since  the  old  Baron  had  brought 
him  back  from  the  desolate  monastery  which  is  all  sunshine 
within,  and  all  snow  without.  By  this  time  surely  he  had  for- 
gotten his  native  Alpine  frosts — if  dogs  ever  forget  —  among 
the  mists  of  Holland.  He  had  basked  for  years  in  the  master's 
smile,  unassuming,  as  no  man  would  ever  have  remained,  under 
the  dignified  repose  of  his  assured  position.  All  the  house- 
hold had  honored  Monk  ;  many  with  time-service  only.  This 
he  had  understood ;  he  had  loved  his  master  alone.  He  knew 
that  the  Baroness  endured  him;  perhaps  there  was  a  little 
jealousy  between  the  two.  And  on  the  day  of  the  old  man's 
death  he  had  wandered  about,  disconsolate,  gradually  begin- 
ning to  realize  a  change.  Ursula  found  him  a  forsaken  favorite, 
not  mourning  his  fall — again,  how  unhuman  ! — but  his  friend. 
She  looked  into  his  big  soft  eyes,  and  the  hunger  died  out 
of  them.  Immediately  the  two  understood  each  other,  forever. 
"  I  accept  of  you  in  my  empty  heart,"  said  Monk. 

In  the  old  Baroness's  boudoir  the  fat  ball  of  white  silk  on 
its  crimson  cushion  opened  one  eye  with  lazy  discontent  and 
scowled  across  at  its  mistress.  It  was  disgusted  with  the  selfish 
irregularity  of  its  meals.  The  little  old  woman  in  the  easy- 
chair  near  the  autumn  fire  did  not  even  notice  it,  in  spite  of 
the  oft-repeated  sighs  by  which  it  strove  to  attract  attention. 
Occasionally  slow  tears  would  now  roll  down  the  widow's 
sunken  pink-and-white  cheeks,  and  glitter  amid  the  jewels  of 
her  folded  hands.     She  had  reached  that  milder  stage  when 


186  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

we  begin  to  feel  our  sorrow.  Oh,  God,  that  in  this  world  of 
agony,  men  should  find  cause  to  be  thankful  for  consciousness 
of  pain  ! 

"  Plush  "  considered  the  state  of  afEairs  most  disgracefully- 
disagreeable. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

TOPSY      REXELAER 

Gerard  went  back  to  Drum  before  his  leave  had  expired. 

"  Your  share  shall  be  paid  to  you,"  Otto  had  said,  perusing 
the  carpet-pattern.  "  Mother  and  Aunt  Louisa  will  combine  to 
make  that  possible.     I  think  that  is  all,  Gerard.     Good-bye." 

So,  dismissed  like  a  footman,  the  young  fellow  turned  his 
back  on  the  home  of  his  youth.  He  little  guessed  that  the 
stern,  middle-aged  man,  seated  at  his  father's  desk,  in  pos- 
session, was,  even  at  that  very  moment,  inwardly  tossed  by  a  pas- 
sion of  prayer  to  keep  back  the  furious  inculpations  that  were 
beating  at  his  lips. 

So  Gerard  went  back  to  Drum.  He  realized,  as  he  drove 
away,  taking  Beauty's  successor  with  him,  that  even  though  he 
might  visit  the  Manor-house  again,  henceforth  it  would  be  as  a 
stranger.  During  all  the  years  of  his  growth  into  manhood, 
ever  since  he  could  remember,  he  had  been  practically  the  only 
son,  the  "young  squire"  in  the  eyes  of  the  peasantry.  He  felt 
cheated  of  his  birthright. 

The  packing-up  had  been  a  terrible  business.  Nothing  had 
been  said  about  retaining  his  rooms,  and  his  nature  was  one 
that  shrank  back  before  the  shadow  of  a  coming  hint.  Quietly 
he  had  put  all  his  things  together,  turning  from  Ursula's  silent, 
terrified  gaze.  Silence  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  them  all  like 
a  paralysis.     The  servants  looked  at  each  other. 

All  his  life  had  been  sheltered  too  warmly  in  his  father's 
fostering  affection.  The  luxury  of  his  youth  hung  about  him — 
the  easy  generosity  which  had  accounted  money  only  a  thing 
to  spend  on  himself  or  on  others,  according  to  requirement.  It 
is  a  cruel  thing,  that  flow  of  parental  good-nature,  while  the 
fingers  of  Death  are  playing  with  the  tap. 


188  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

And  at  this  supreme  moment  even  liis  mother's  sure  prefer- 
ence deserted  him.  The  Baroness,  whose  faculties  seemed  to 
lie  dulled  beneath  the  veil  of  her  widowhood,  had  understood, 
clearly  enough,  without  need  of  any  malice  on  Otto's  part,  that 
Gerard  objected  to  the  terms  of  the  will.  The  discovery  had 
galvanized  her  into  feverish  activity.  She  had  insisted  upon 
sacrificing  whatever  her  husband's  improvidence  had  left  her 
still  unsacrificed.  Half  a  dozen  times  in  the  course  of  one  day 
she  rang  for  Otto,  to  ascertain  whether  everything  was  settled. 
For  the  moment,  Gerard  had  become  the  enemy  against  whom 
the  forces  of  the  family  must  unite.  She  was  very  angry  with 
him  for  wishing  to  destroy  his  father's  life-work.  "  You  won't 
allow  it.  Otto,"  she  repeated,  excitedly.  *'  You  will  never  allow 
it."  She  clung  to  her  strong  eldest,  in  the  weakness  of  aban- 
donment. Her  farewell  to  the  traitor  was  full  of  reproach. 
Gerard  went  back  into  life  from  his  father's  funeral,  alone. 

As  soon  as  the  money  was  in  his  possession  he  sought  an  in- 
terview with  the  creditor  at  the  Hague  and  discharged  his  debt, 
or  rather  his  departed  friend's.  But  he  had  plenty  of  liabilities 
of  his  own  incurring,  and  these  now  came  tumbling  about  his 
ears  in  the  crash  of  his  father's  removal.  By  the  time  he  had 
effected  a  settlement  there  was  very  little  left  of  his  original 
curtailed  inheritance.  This  would  hardly  have  disturbed  his 
calm  fruition  of  all  things  needful  but  for  the  brusque  discovery 
that  his  credit  was  gone.  One  afternoon  he  stepped  into  a  fa- 
miliar shop  to  order  a  new  saddle,  and  the  obsequious  tradesman 
asked  prepayment  of  his  standing  account.  Gerard  came  away 
bewildered.    It  was  the  turning-point  of  his  life.    He  was  poor. 

Before  all  this,  before  the  Baron's  death,  he  had  made  one 
attempt  to  act  on  Mademoiselle  Papotier's  suggestion.  He  had 
written  a  long  letter  to  Helena.  It  had  been  returned  to  him 
unopened,  and  from  that  moment  he  felt  his  case  was  utterly 
hopeless.  For  a  woman  hardly  ever  returns  a  letter  unopened. 
She  is  quite  willing  to  do  so,  only  she  must  read  it  first.  Some 
of  them  manage  to. 

Gerard  was  in  the  position  of  many  a  modern  spendthrift. 
Steal  he  could  not,  to  work  he  was  ashamed.  Besides,  what 
was  he  fit  for,  excepting  parade  ?     It  is  one  of  the  saddest  con- 


TOPSY    REXELAER  189 

fusions  of  this  muddled  society  of  ours  that  only  the*poor  can 
beg  and  only  the  rich  can  steal.  Nothing  was  left,  therefore, 
to  our  young  soldier  but  to  return  to  his  simplified  avocations 
in  the  endeavor  to  make  both  ends  meet  on  starvation  pay.  All 
the  color  and  cake  went  out  of  his  existence,  which  became 
drab,  like  rye-bread. 

Adeline  was  married  to  her  lawyer's  clerk  ;  Helena's  wedding- 
dress  had  been  ordered.  Under  these  circumstances,  in  his 
handsome  forlornness,  dawdling  about  dull  Drum,  Gerard  found 
one  motherly  bosom  on  which  to  rest  his  curly  head.  The 
plump  Baroness  van  Trossart,  disgusted  by  her  niece's  perver- 
sity, but  resolved  not  to  fret  over  anything,  immediately  set 
herself  to  pay  the  poor  boy  what  she  considered  a  family  debt, 
and,  after  a  little  preliminary  reconnoitring,  backed  by  an  ar- 
tillery fire  of  praises  and  pushes,  she  successfully  manoeuvred 
the  rejected  suitor  into  a  fresh  flirtation  with  one  of  the  most 
charming  girls  in  Holland,  Antoinette  van  Rexelaer.  The  Freule 
Antoinette  was  not  an  heiress,  like  Helena,  but  she  had  lately, 
and  quite  unexpectedly,  come  into  a  snug  little  fortune  through 
her  godfather,  a  relation  of  her  mother's,  and  former  Minister 
of  State— a  windfall,  indeed,  to  the  youngest  of  five  children ! 
"  A  dispensation  !"  mysteriously  ejaculated  the  young  lady's 
mother,  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  van  Rexelaer,  nee  Borck. 

Topsy,  as  her  own  circle  called  her,  was  a  distant  connec- 
tion of  Gerard's ;  but  then  in  Holland  we  are  all  that,  and  it  no 
longer  counts.     The  two  mothers  were  some  sort  of  cousins. 

From  the  Hague,  where  the  Rexelaers  lived,  Antoinette  came 
came  to  stay  with  the  Baroness  van  Trossart,  and,  under  that 
match-maker's  auspices,  she  saw  a  good  deal  of  Gerard.  Now, 
for  Gerard  to  see  a  nice  girl  was  to  be  charming  to  her;  he 
was  charming  in  the  most  natural,  innocent,  and  infectious  way. 
The  Freule  Antoinette  understood  this  perfectly,  and  they  lived 
together  in  that  happy  mutual  desire  to  please  which  may  mean 
everything  or  nothing,  according  to  Cupid's  caprice.  AVhen  the 
guest  returned  home,  Mevrouw  van  Trossart  felt  convinced  it 
meant  everything,  and  she  had  easily  persuaded  Gerard  to  think 
so  too,  for  Gerard  had  taken  a  real  liking  to  the  frank-faced, 
bright-witted  girl. 


190  MY    LADY     NOBODY 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  good-natured  Baroness,  intent  on 
further  arrangement,  "  you  are  positively  too  dangerous  ;  I  can- 
not introduce  you  to  any  more  young  ladies.  You  are  irresisti- 
ble ;  you  have  now  carried  off  the  heart  of  my  poor  little  Antoi- 
nette !" 

"  One  young  lady  did  not  find  me  irresistible,  Mevrouw,"  re- 
plied Gerard,  bitterly.  He  was  angry  with  Helena,  but  he  had 
never  really  cared  for  her.     It  was  she  who  now  avoided  him. 

''  Ah,  dear  boy,  do  not  let  us  speak  of  that ;  it  is  too  dread- 
ful. Be  thankful  that  you,  at  least,  did  not  love  your  cousin. 
No,  no."  She  held  up  a  fat  forefinger.  "  Of  course  you  pro- 
test; but  an  old  woman  like  me  sees  what  she  sees.  We  all 
make  mistakes.  As  for  poor  Helena,  hers  "-—  She  stopped. 
"  This  time,  at  any  rate,"  she  cried,  gayly,  "  there  must  be  no 
blundering.  Go  at  once  and  propose  to  Mevrouw  Elizabeth. 
To  know  you  prosperously  settled  will  be  a  load  off  my  heart." 

"  Propose  to  Mevrouw  Elizabeth !"  said  Gerard,  with  a  grimace. 

"Don't  be  stupid,  Gerard.  Yes,  considering  the  undoubted 
fact  that  Antoinette  Rexelaer  is  so  much  richer  than  you — there's 
no  use  in  ignoring  what  every  one  knows  —  I  think  it  would 
be  in  better  taste  for  you  to  speak  first  to  the  father  —  which 
means  the  mother;  especially  as  in  this  case  I  feel  sure  you 
can  safely  do  so." 

Accordingly  Gerard,  by  no  means  indifferent  as  to  the  issue, 
waited  upon  Mynheer  Frederick  van  Rexelaer,  Topsy's  papa,  a 
Judge,  and  also  a  Fool.  That  gentleman  received  him  very  af- 
fably, and  immediately  invented  an  excuse  for  withdrawing  to 
consult  with  the  head  of  the  household. 

"  No  money  and  a  very  desirable  connection,"  said  Mevrouw 
Rexelaer,  sitting  up.  "  I  wish  it  were  Van  Helmont  of  Horst- 
wyk  and  the  Horst.  But  he  has  behaved  like  an  idiot.  This 
seems  a  very  agreeable  young  man,  and  Topsy  might  do  worse. 
Since  her  miserable  failure  with  poor  deluded  Rene  I  am  often 
quite  anxious  about  what  is  to  become  of  her." 

"  Oh,  she'll  marry,"  said  the  Judge. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,  Frederick,"  replied  Mevrouw,  who  was  very 
impatient,  for  various  reasons,  to  get  this  last  daughter  off  her 
hands. 


TOPSY    REXELAER  191 

"  Antoinette  is  so  strange,  so  ungirlisli ;  no  man,  as  yet,  lias 
ever  proposed  to  her.  My  cousin  Herman's  legacy  was  a  mer- 
ciful dispensation  ;  but,  all  the  same,  I  should  consider  it  very 
unwise  to  let  this  chance  escape." 

So  Gerard  was  instructed  to  make  his  proposal  that  night  at 
the  Soiree  of  the  Society  of  Arts,  and  Topsy  was  instructed  to 
accept  him. 

"  You  may  thank  your  stars,"  said  Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  frank- 
ly, to  her  daughter.  "  Judging  by  the  past,  I  should  think  it's 
your  only  opportunity.  Money  doesn't  go  for  everything,  espe- 
cially if  a  girl  has  no  '  charm.'  I  thank  Heaven  on  my  bended 
knees  when  I  remember  what  might  have  been  !" 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  replied  Antoinette,  meekly,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  downcast  eyes.  In  her  own  family  Mevrouw  Eliza- 
beth's will  was  law,  the  immovable  incubus  of  many  oppressive 
years. 

"  What  might  have  been  " — what  Mevrouw  had  once  yearned 
and  worked  for,  in  spite  of  present  thanksgiving — was  Topsy's 
marriage  with  a  cousin,  who  had  never  understood  Mevrouw 
Elizabeth's  plans.  This  cousin  was  now  dead  and  mad  and  al- 
together forgotten  and  unmentionable.     Hush  ! 

The  evening  exhibitions  of  the  Arts  Society  are  very  brilliant 
social  events.  Some  first-rate  private  collection  or  portfolio 
forms  the  welcome  excuse  for  coming  together,  and  the  people 
who  go  everywhere  and  see  nothing  insure,  by  their  presence, 
artistic  success.  There  was  such  a  crowd  in  the  central  room — 
a  chattering  crowd,  unconcernedly  self  -  obstructive  with  regard 
to  the  pictures — that  it  took  Gerard  some  time  to  worm  his  way 
to  Antoinette.  His  heart  fluttered.  How  sweet  she  looked 
with  her  provokingly  clever  little  face  in  the  turquoise  cloud  of 
her  evening-dress ! 

"  Let's  go  into  that  little  side  -room,  Freule,"  he  stammered. 
"  I  should  like  to  show  you  a  picture  there." 

"  Oh,  but  I  don't  want  to  go  into  the  little  side -room.  Myn- 
heer van  Helmont."  Her  voice  was  uncertain,  like  his.  "  Please 
don't,"  she  said,  "  I'm  much  happier  as  I  am." 

He  looked  at  her  without  immediate  answer,  offering  his 
arm.    Suddenly  she  seemed  to  grasp  at  some  mighty  resolve, 


192  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

and,  cbecking  further  protest,  slie  allowed  him  to  lead  her 
away. 

The  little  alcove  was  empty  but  for  a  couple  of  expectantly 
staring  portraits,  forlorn  in  the  gaslight. 

"  How  stupid  they  look  !"  exclaimed  Gerard,  impatiently ; 
then,  rebelling  against  the  still  atmosphere  of  imminence  which 
seemed  to  thicken  upon  this  sudden  solitude,  "  Freule,  I  want 
to  say  something  to  you,"  he  murmured,  hastily.  "  I  don't 
quite  know  how  to  begin,  but,  perhaps — " 

"  Oh,  don't,"  she  interrupted  him,  releasing  her  arm.  "  Don't, 
please,  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to 
say,  and  I  want  you  to  leave  it  unsaid.  I  am  so  sorry,  for  I 
know  it  must  be  all  my  fault.  I  never  thought  of  anything  of 
the  kind.  I  had  understood  you — I  believed  your  affections 
were  placed  elsewhere.  I — I  am  so  sorry."  She  faltered.  "  I 
shall  never  marry,"  she  said,  and  plucked  at  her  fan. 

He  did  not  answer,  in  the  silence,  with  the  senseless  hum  be- 
yond. Opposite  him,  in  a  big  gilt  frame,  a  woman  sat  eternally 
simpering,  a  lay  figure  with  black  laces  and  Raglan  roses.  He 
hated  that  woman. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  back  to  Mevrouw  van  Rexelaer  ?"  he  said. 

The  name  seemed  to  arouse  her  from  her  dream  of  unmerited 
self-reproach. 

"  Just  one  moment,"  she  began,  hurriedly.  "  There  is — I 
should  like —  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  I  am  going  to  ask  you 
an  immense  favor !  I  know  I  have  no  right,  but  I  want  you  to 
tell  my  parents  that  it  is  you  who  have  changed  your  mind. 
You  haven't  really  asked  me  anything,  you  know.  Well,  say 
you  haven't." 

"  I  don't  quite  understand."    Gerard  spoke  a  little  haughtily. 

"  Perhaps  it  isn't  so  much  of  a  favor,"  the  poor  girl  went  on. 
"  It  '11  save  you  the  appearance  of  having  been  refused.  For- 
give me.  Mynheer  van  Helmont ;  I  don't  quite  know  what  I'm 
saying.  But  my  life  will  be  even  more  miserable  than  it  is ;  it  will 
be  unbearable,  if  my  mother  knows  you  asked  me  to  be  your  wife." 

She  looked  up  at  him  pleadingly.  He  was  amazed.  What 
had  become  of  the  bright  creature  he  knew,  with  her  sparkle  of 
innocent  repartee  ? 


TOPSY    REXELAER  193 

"  My  word  is  passed  to  your  father,"  he  said,  tremulously, 
"  You  ask  me  to  disgrace  myself  in  the  eyes  of  every  decent 
man." 

''  Oh  no  !  not  that !  not  that !"  She  spoke  almost  wildly. 
"  But,  oh,  my  God !  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Mynheer  van  Hel- 
mont,  don't  think  me  too  much  of  a  coward.  I  believe  I  could 
nerve  myself  to  one  great  sacrifice ;  it  is  the  daily  bickering 
and  nagging  which  I  cannot  endure.  Never  mind,  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself."  She  dashed  her  hand  across  her  eyes — 
but  too  late.     "  Good-bye,  and  forget  me.     It  doesn't  matter." 

He  bent  low  over  her  hand. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  he  said,  very  firm  and  soldierly. 

Once  more  she  looked  up  at  him,  her  eyes  full  of  far-away 
tenderness. 

"  I  cannot  help  myself,"  she  whispered.  "  I  shall  never  love 
— again." 

Gerard  found  the  Judge  in  the  coffee-room.  And  with  the 
best  face  possible — which  was  a  bad  one — he  confessed  that  he 
had  reconsidered  his  proposal  of  the  morning,  and  must  with- 
draw it.     Difiiculties  had  intervened. 

"  Really  ?"  said  the  little  Judge,  coffee  -  cup  in  hand.  "  This 
is  very  extraordinary.  Of  course,  if  you  wish,  there  is  an  end 
of  it.  But — really.  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  you  must  excuse  me 
— for  a  moment."  He  sidled  to  the  entrance,  in  wild  yearning 
for  his  better  half,  who  fortunately  met  him  there,  having  gath- 
ered that  something  was  wrong. 

*'  My  dear,"  whispered  the  Judge,  "  Mynheer  van  Helmont 
has  changed  his  mind  about  marrying  Topsy.    He  isn't  going  to." 

"  Nonsense,  Frederick  !"  ejaculated  Mevrouw  Elizabeth. 
"  Tell  him  it's  all  right.  Tell  him  to  go  and  ask  her  at 
once." 

The  little  Judge  went  back  into  the  desolate  refreshment- 
room.     His  substantial  consort  lingered  near  the  door. 

"  Mynheer  van  Helmont,"  said  Frederick,  "  it's  all  right. 
You  had  better  go  and  ask  her  at  once." 

*'  Mynheer  van  Rexelaer,"  replied  Gerard,  scarlet  as  a  poppy, 
"  I  thought  I  had  made  myself  understood.  I  abandon  all  fur- 
ther idea  of  proposing  to  your  daughter." 

13 


194  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Frederick  fell  back  to  the  door.  In  her  eagerness  Mevrouw 
put  through  her  big  heliotrope  -  crowned  head.  "  My  dear,  he 
won't  ask  her,"  breathed  Frederick. 

"  What  ?"  cried  the  lady,  casting  furious  glances  towards  the 
young  officer,  erect  and  helpless  in  the  middle  of  the  bare, 
blazing  room.  "  Go  to  him,  Frederick,  at  once  !  Tell  him  he's 
a  coward  and  no  gentleman  !  Tell  him  you'll  horsewhip  him ! 
No,  you  can't  do  that,  you're  a  Judge.  Tell  him  one  of  her 
brothers  will  horsewhip  him !  Guy  ought  to.  I'll  make  him 
do  it !  She  pushed  forward  her  small  husband,  who  reluctantly 
returned  to  the  charge. 

"You  have  behaved  very  badly.  Mynheer,"  he  began.  "You 
must  permit  me  to  say  that."  He  looked  round  nervously. 
Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  distrusting  the  atmosphere  of  calm,  had 
come  forward  into  the  full  light,  and  was  unconsciously  strain- 
ing nearer.  "That  your  conduct  is" — he  raised  his  voice — 
"  not  such  as  one  has  a  right  to  expect  from  a  gentleman. 
And  here  the  matter  must  end."  He  turned  hastily  ;  Mevrouw 
Elizabeth  stood  close  behind  him. 

"  Say  it  is  blackguardly,"  she  hissed. 

"  I  won't !"  replied  Frederick  van  Rexelaer,  in  a  funk. 

"  It  is  blackguardly.  Mynheer,"  cried  the  matron,  pushing 
past.     "  You  are  a  coward.  Mynheer,  and  no  gentleman." 

Gerard  retreated  towards  the  gas-smitten  wall,  looking,  in  his 
tight-fitting  blue-black  hussar  uniform,  like  an  Apollo  in  utter 
disgrace.  He  wondered,  for  a  moment,  whether  the  woman 
was  going  to  strike  him. 

"  My  son  shall  speak  to  you.  Mynheer,  as  you  deserve," 
shrieked  Mevrouw  Elizabeth.  "  My  son  !  I  will  send  you  my 
son,  sir,  to  settle  this  matter." 

"Oh,  do,  Mevrouw,  do  !"  eagerly  exclaimed  Gerard,  in  a  sud- 
den rush  of  relief. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
MASKS     AND     FACES 

The  day  after  his  wife's  funeral  Mynheer  Mopius  sat  in  the 
gilded  drawing-room  of  Villa  Blanda.  His  demeanor  was  prop- 
erly, pleasantly  chastened,  for  the  cud  of  the  pompous  exequies 
lay  sweet  upon  his  tongue. 

Harriet,  busy  with  her  own  thoughts  at  the  evening  tea-table, 
said,  "  Yes,  it  had  all  been  very  nice." 

"  But  the  tea  was  cold,  Harriet,"  grumbled  Mynheer  Mopius, 
for  the  dozenth  weary  time.  "  It's  a  very  bad  thing  in  a  woman 
when  she  can't  make  tea." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Harriet,  gazing  down  at  her  sable  gar- 
ments, and  wondering  how  soon  the  cheap  material  would  get 
rusty. 

"  My  mother  could  make  excellent  tea,"  prosed  Mynheer,  with 
a  melancholy  nod.  "  She  could  do  everything  excellently,  could 
my  mother." 

"  A  woman  ought  to,"  said  Harriet,  "  and  when  she's  done  it, 
she  ought  to  die." 

"  She  ought.  She  ought."  While  Mynheer  Mopius  spoke, 
his  thoughts  were  dwelling  on  Domine  Pock's  oration  by  the 
grave.  How  well  the  reverend  gentleman  had  alluded  to  the 
charities  of  our  dear  brother  afflicted !  "  The  consolation 
which  a  noble  heart  can  always  find  in  wiping  other  eyes  the 
while  its  own  are  streaming  !" 

Mynheer  blew  his  nose. 

"  This  cheap  cloth  won't  last,  uncle,"  said  Harriet,  briskly. 

He  pretended  not  to  hear  her.  She  bored  him.  She  had 
been  all  very  well  while  his  wife  dragged  on,  but  now — !  And, 
why,  after  all,  should  he  be  saddled  with  this  sharp -tongued 


196  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

girl?  She  was  no  relation  of  his,  though  she  called  him 
"  uncle."  Mevrouw  Mopius's  childless  sister  had  been  the  first 
wife  of  Harriet's  father,  Dr.  Verveen. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  mechanically,  "  everything  my  mother 
produced  was  first-rate  of  its  kind." 

"Especially  her  son,"  said  Harriet,  with  a  sneer  that  posi- 
tively fizzled. 

Mynheer  Mopius's  yellow  face  grew  a  shade  healthier  in 
color.  He  accepted  his  third  cup  in  thoughtful  silence ;  then 
he  said,  "  And  noiv,  my  dear  young  lady,  what  do  you  mean 
to  do  ?" 

She  looked  at  him,  across  the  steaming  urn. 

"  Go  to  bed,"  she  replied. 

"  Quite  so.     And  after  ?" 

"  Why,  sleep,  of  course.     What  do  you  mean,  uncle  ?" 

She  flushed  scarlet. 

"  My  dear  Harriet,  I  fear  you  are  too  fond  of  sleeping. 
Surely  you  understand  that  you  can  no  longer  remain  an  inmate 
of  this  house,  now  that — that  I  am  a  lonely  widower  ?  Much  as 
I  regret — ahem  ! — you  will  admit,  I  feel  confident,  that  you 
cannot  remain  under  present  circumstances." 

"  Not  under  present  circumstances,"  answered  Harriet. 

She  waited  for  one  long  second,  her  black  eyes  aflame,  full  on 
his  face.  Then  the  balance  in  which  her  fate  hung  snapped 
suddenly.  She  sat,  self-possessed,  amid  the  collapse  of  all  her 
hopes. 

"  I  shall  always  take  an  interest  in  you,"  said  Mynheer  Mo- 
pius,  adjusting  his  neat  white  mourning  -  tie ;  "  and  I  mean  to 
act  very  generously,  to  begin  with.  I  shall  take  lodgings  for 
you  for  one  month,  paying  your  board.  I  should  have  added  a 
little  cash  for  current  expenses,  but  you  aunt's  legacy  has  made 
that  superfluous." 

"  Aunt  Sarah  left  me  a  hundred  florins  and  her  Bible,"  said 
Harriet. 

"  Dear  woman,  she  did  !  She  always  thought  of  others.  You 
are  welcome  to  the  money,  Harriet ;  fully,  frankly  welcome. 
But  the  Bible !  That  is  a  memento  of  her  I  would  fain  have 
retained." 


MASKS    AND    FACES  197 

"  Buy  it  of  me  ?"  said  Harriet.  "  How  much  will  you  give 
for  it  ?     Ten  florins  ?" 

"  Harriet,  I  am  shocked,"  replied  Mynheer  Mopius,  hastily. 
"  The  month's  board  will  leave  you  ample  time  to  look  out  for 
a  situation." 

"  To  look  out  for  another  situation,"  said  Harriet. 

"  Quite  so,"  exclaimed  Mynheer  Mopius,  delighted  at  her 
good  sense. 

Harriet  threw  back  her  arm  with  a  jerk  that  rattled  the  tea- 
equipage. 

"  And  to  think,"  she  cried,  "  that  only  last  week  I  rejected 
the  doctor." 

"  More  fool  you  !"  replied  Mynheer  Mopius,  coolly.  "  You'll 
have  to  be  more  careful  of  the  Chinese  porcelain  in  a  strange 
house,  Harriet,  and  it  probably  won't  be  anything  like  as 
good." 

"  I  rejected  the  doctor,"  continued  Harriet,  roughly,  "  be- 
cause I  didn't  care  for  him.  I  couldn't  live  with  a  young  man 
I  didn't  care  for.     Uncles  are  different." 

"  Harriet,  I  am  not  really  your  uncle,  you  must  remember, 
though  I  am  willing  to  behave  as  such.     If  your  father — " 

*'Yes,  I  know.  Well,  I  shall  try  to  get  something  in  a 
month's  time,  and  if  I  can,  I'll  repay  the  board  and  lodging, 
dear  uncle." 

"That  is  not  necessary.  You  can  place  an  advertisement, 
Harriet,  not  mentioning  names,  of  course.  You  don't  know 
enough  for  a  governess,  and,  besides,  you  are  too  good-looking. 
You  had  better  try  to  become  a  companion.     If  your  father — " 

"  Quite  so.  Yes,  I  shall  try  to  become  a  companion — to  a 
gentleman." 

"  Harriet !  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  a  laughing  matter.  To 
an  invalid  lady.  Not  that  you  have  any  experience  of  invalids ; 
for  my  dear  Sarah  enjoyed  excellent  health  till  almost  the 
last." 

"  To  a  gentleman,"  persisted  Harriet,  coolly.  "  It  is  no 
laughing  matter,  Uncle  Jacob.  When  I  leave  this  house, 
which  at  least  afforded  me  some  miserable  sort  of  protection,  I 
shall  advertise  for  a  husband.     I  dare  say  something  nice  will 


198  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

turn  up.  I  want  a  husband  I  can  be  really  fond  of.  Somehow 
I  have  faith  in  his  turning  up." 

She  spoke  to  herself,  but  she  rejoiced  in  scandalizing  the 
hateful  humbug  opposite. 

"  Harriet,  my  dear,"  said  the  widower,  solemnly,  "  all  this 
is  very  much  out  of  place.  You  should  have  more  respect  for 
the  holiness  of  sorrow,  Harriet." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,  you  needn't  trouble  about  that,"  she  inter- 
rupted him.  "  I'm  in  deadly  earnest,  I  assure  you.  I've 
printed  an  advertisement  before,  but  it  came  to  nothing.  I 
mean  to  look  out  better  this  time." 

Her  accent  belied  the  outer  calm  of  her  attitude ;  she  began 
washing  the  cups. 

"  Printed  an  advertisement  from  my  house  ?  From  Villa 
Blanda  ?     If  so,  I  have  nourished  a — " 

''No." 

"  I  am  extremely  agitated,  Harriet.  You  are  my  cherished 
Sarah's  step -niece.  I  cannot  imagine  that  any  member,  any 
step-member,  of  my  dear  wife's  family  would  demean  herself  in 
the  manner  you  describe." 

He  got  up  and  began  to  walk  about,  enjoying  his  brand-new 
mourning.  "For  any  one,  of  however  humble  origin  —  and 
Sarah's  sister  married  beneath  her — to  enter  into  relations  of — 
of  an  amorous  description  with  a  stranger !  Harriet,  I  am  hor- 
rified. We  are  not  in  India,  Harriet.  You  are  not  a  black 
woman,  though  you  may  think  and  act  like  one.  I  appeal  to 
you  to  remember  that  you  are  connected,  however  distantly, 
with  an  honorable  family.  You  are  not  free,  Harriet,  as  you 
might  have  been  before  your  father's  first  marriage." 

He  spoke  with  almost  desperate  energy,  for  there  were  some 
things  he  had  learned  to  discriminate  in  his  intercourse  with 
Harriet  Verveen.     He  knew  when  she  meant  what  she  said. 

"  Pooh  !"  replied  Harriet.  "  Good-night,  dear  uncle.  You 
give  me  a  month's  board,  without  wages,  and  notice  to  quit. 
I  am  very  grateful,  dear  uncle ;  but  henceforth  you  must  allow 
me  to  fashion  my  own  life  as  I  choose." 

They  stood  facing  each  other.  There  was  no  noise  and  no 
recrimination.     Each  knew  it  would  be  useless. 


MASKS    AND    PACES  199 

''  I  have  nourished  a  serpent  in  my  bosom,"  said  Mynheer 
Mopius,  triumphantly  getting  out  his  quotation  after  all.  "  I 
can't  keep  you  here  a  day  longer,  Harriet,  though  you  seem  to 
be  annoyed  about  going.  It  wouldn't  be  proper,  and,  besides, 
I  may  have  other  plans.  I  treat  you  generously.  Whatever 
you  may  elect  to  do  I  hope  you  will  repay  me  by  henceforth 
dropping  all  pretended  relationship  to  myself.  That  must  be 
an  understood  thing.  Such  conduct  as  you  propose — clandes- 
tine love  affairs,  anonymous  love  affairs — I  consider  most  scan- 
dalous. All  the  world  considers  it  scandalous.  I  cannot  allow 
a  breath  of  ill-odor  to  sully  the  unspotted  name  of  Mopius.  Har- 
riet, I  hope  you  fully  agree  to  that  suggestion.  If  not  I  should 
consider  myself  compelled  to  retract." 

"  Oh,  most  willingly,"  again  interrupted  Harriet.  She  stead- 
ily sought  her  uncle's  shifty  glances.  "  I  break  all  relation  be- 
tween us  as  completely  as — I  crush  this  cup !"  The  costly 
porcelain  fell  to  the  ground  in  shell-like  fragments.  Mynheer 
Mopius  darted  forward  with  a  shriek.  Meanwhile  Harriet 
slipped  from  the  room,  her  right  hand  bleeding,  her  mood 
somewhat  relieved. 

Next  morning  she  left  the  house.  After  the  night's  consid- 
eration of  circumstances  she  was  not  sorry  to  go.  She  believed, 
with  a  desperate  woman's  pertinacity,  in  the  ultimate  success 
of  the  wide  choice  she  had  allowed  herself.  She  would  take  a 
husband  after  her  own  heart.  Already  she  pictured  him  to 
herself,  good-looking,  with  a  fair  mustache. 

In  the  great  city  close  to  Drum — a  city  which  may  as  well 
remain  nameless — a  modest  variety  may  be  found  of  those  pub- 
lic entertainments  which  constitute,  to  the  many,  a  principal 
criterion  of  civilization.  In  the  nineteenth-century  march  of 
mind — which,  after  all,  is  but  the  advance  of  'Arry — a  town  with 
no  permanent  music-hall  troupe  is  voted  "  slow."  Drum  was 
distinctly  "  slow."  Its  big  sister  aspired,  in  spasms,  to  be  reck- 
oned "  fast." 

Occasionally,  therefore,  when  the  fit  was  upon  her,  the  big 
sister  clutched,  gasping,  at  some  Parisian  form  of  diversion  ;  a 
river  fete  with  fireworks,  horse-races,  or,  in  winter,  a  bal  costume 


200  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

et  pare.  The  latter  was  decidedly  a  bad  spasm,  for  northern 
nations  can  make  nothing  of  the  "  Veglione."  Still,  every  sea- 
son a  couple  of  these  picturesque  gayeties  were  organized  by 
indefatigable  impresarii  (in  rose-colored  spectacles),  the  price 
of  admission  being  fixed  at  a  florin  for  gentlemen,  ladies  free. 
No  respectable  person  over  thirty  was  supposed  to  attend. 

One  of  the  least  unsuccessful  costume-balls  the  city  has  ever 
seen  came  off  just  before  Christmas,  in  the  year  we  are  describ- 
ing. Willie  van  Troyen  was  there  as  Paris,  with  another  Hel- 
en, this  being  a  delicate  joke  on  the  part  of  the  woman  whose 
rule  was  to  end  next  week.  As  she  accurately  pointed  out,  the 
right  Helen  was,  after  all,  the  wrong  love. 

Only  Gerard's  deep  mourning  had  prevented  his  presence. 
Somebody  had  suggested,  behind  his  back,  that  he  might  go  as 
a  Mute.  The  gay  band  he  lived  among  agreed  unanimously 
that  "  it  was  high  time  that  Gerard  got  over  his  parent's  de- 
mise." He  was  not  a  success  in  the  role  of  the  impecunious 
orphan. 

Willie  van  Troyen  on  this  festal  occasion  was  drunk,  and 
from  his  place  in  a  stage -box,  between  two  sirens,  he  was  roar- 
ing with  laughter  at  the  antics  of  a  goose  in  the  pit.  The  whole 
floor  of  the  small  theatre  had  been  cleared  for  perambulation, 
while  those  who  meant  dancing  could  retire  to  the  stage.  Most 
of  the  masks,  however,  preferred  to  walk  about  and  make  be- 
lieve they  were  funny,  in  a  half-annoyed  jostle  of  ungracious 
familiarity,  under  the  critical  contemplation  of  the  humbler  am- 
phitheatre side-tables,  and  of  the  champagne-sodden  boxes  up 
above.  Every  now  and  then  some  ambitious  buffoon,  excited 
by  the  continuous  spur  of  the  music,  would  suddenly  leap  at  facile 
applause.  There  would  be  a  sweep  of  the  crowd  in  his  direc- 
tion and  an  outburst  of  meaningless  laughter,  every  one  ex- 
claiming that  the  joke  was  good,  while  thinking  it  rather  tame. 

But  even  the  numerous  laughers  who  were  only  pretending 
to  amuse  themselves  agreed  in  recognizing  the  very  real  drollery 
of  the  Goose.  He — it  was  evidently  a  masculine  goose,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  a  gander — he  trotted  about  in  the  stupidest 
manner,  a  great  yellow-beaked  ball  of  white  and  black  feathers 
with  unreasonably  protruding  quills.    Just  now  he  had  got  hold 


MASKS    AND    FACES  201 

of  a  stout  and  solemn  gentleman  in  red  velvet,  who  evidently- 
represented  a  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  Signior.  This  dig- 
nified personage  looked  exceedingly  out  of  place — not  to  speak 
of  a  false  nose  through  his  mask — in  so  foolish  a  company  of 
mummers. 

The  Goose  had  a  nasty  talent  for  cackling  with  the  extrava- 
gant clatter  of  his  big  wooden  beak,  and  he  kept  up  this  deaf- 
ening music  incessantly  as  he  ran  round  and  round  the  fat 
gentleman  in  velvet,  who  turned  helplessly  hither  and  thither 
amid  volleys  of  merriment.  Every  now  and  then  the  cruel  bird, 
as  it  ran,  would  draw  the  pointed  quills  from  under  its  feathers 
and  therewith  prick  the  reverend  signior  in  unexpected  places, 
causing  him  to  wriggle  and  twist.  Just  then  there  was  a  pause 
in  the  programme ;  the  whole  theatre  shook  with  this  unex- 
pected fun. 

''  Why  can't  you  leave  me  alone  ?"  hissed  the  unfortunate 
senator,  in  streaming  suspense.  But  the  Goose  made  no  reply. 
Stopping  his  mad  race  for  a  moment,  he  actually  began  chalking 
up  ribaldry  with  one  of  his  quills  on  the  senator's  pendent  man- 
tle, chattering  all  the  while.  In  vain  the  proud  aristocrat  wrestled 
and  protested.  The  Goose,  holding  the  mantle  firmly,  chalked 
a  huge  note  of  interrogation  upon  it,  and  wrote  under  this  sign, 
amid  breathless  interest,  the  question,  '  What  does  your  Wor- 
ship here?"  A  renewed  outburst  greeted  this  sally.  Willie 
van  Troyen,  unsteadily  prominent,  pelted  the  witty  bird  with 
hot-house  grapes. 

"  Go  along,  you  hypocrite,  I  know  you,''  said  the  Goose  in 
his  victim's  ear.      "  I've  chalked  up  your  real  name  behind." 

At  this  the  crimson  noble,  breaking  down,  began  to  cry 
real  tears  of  shame  and  spite.  "You've  ruined  me,  then," 
he  exclaimed.  "  And  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  imagine 
why  !" 

"  Boh,"  said  the  Goose,  and  resumed  his  clatter  more  heartily 
than  ever. 

But  at  this  juncture  a  Goose-girl  stepped  unexpectedly  into 
the  arena.  She  drove  off  the  Goose  with  some  well-directed 
blows,  and,  taking  the  arm  of  the  red-velvet  gentleman,  led  him 
disconsolate  away. 


202  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  It's  your  own  fault  for  coining,"  squeaked  the  Goose-girl. 
"  Let's  go  and  talk  it  over  in  a  private  box." 

'*  No,  indeed  ;  private  boxes  are  very  expensive.  My  dear 
creature,  for  Heaven's  sake,  let  ine  sit  down  on  this  settee.  I 
— I — anxious  to  obliterate" —  he  began,  violently  rubbing  his 
back  against  the  cushions  of  the  sofa.  '*  I  am  quite  at  a  loss 
to  understand,"  he  said ;  "  but  tell  me,  my  dear,  you  didn't — 
eh?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  maiden.  "  Your  style  and  title, 
Mynheer  the  Councillor,  were  written  there  in  full." 

He  broke  into  an  oath.  "  Not  my  name,"  he  sobbed.  "  You 
— you  didn't  see  my  name  ?" 

The  Goose-girl  sat  down  beside  him.  She  used  a  small  in- 
strument to  disguise  her  voice.  ''  Why  did  you  come  here,  you 
horrid  old  man  ?"  she  said.  "  I  saw  you  flirting  with  Little  Red 
Riding-hood.  I  saw  you  dancing  with  that  atrocious  Bacchante. 
*  Clandestine  love-affairs^''  ^Anonymous  engagements.''  And  your 
wife  not  five  weeks  dead  !  Oh,  Uncle  Jacob — Uncle  Jacob !" 
Harriet  dropped  into  her  natural  voice,  letting  fall  both  her 
mask  and  her  manner. 

"  Harriet !"  exclaimed  Mopius,  **  this  exceeds — " 

"  Indeed  it  does/'  she  interrupted,  coolly.  "  Don't  speak  so 
loud,  dear  uncle,  or  the  Goose  will  be  coming  back." 

Mynheer  Mopius  started  to  his  feet. 

"  This  is  some  conspiracy  to  ruin  me,"  he  said,  speaking  like 
one  dazed,     "  I'm  ruined  already.     I'm  going — " 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  objected  his  tormentor.  "  It  isn't  true 
that  your  name  was  written  up  ;  I  prevented  that  in  time.  So, 
you  see,  you  have  a  good  deal  to  thank  me  for.  But,  uncle, 
that  Goose  is  a  writer  on  the  staff  of  the  Drum  Independent ;  he 
is  one  of  their  leading  men,  and  a  very  great  friend  of  mine. 
His  quills  are  very  real  quills.  He  is  anxious  to  tell — when  the 
by-election  comes  on  next  week,  which  is  to  render  you  Right 
Worshipful — an  amusing  little  story  of  a  highly  respectable 
candidate  who,  barely  a  month  after  his  dear  wife's  death, 
danced  with  a  charming  Bacchante  at  a  charming  masked 
ball." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me,  Harriet  ?"  shrieked  the  wretched 


MASKS    AND    FACES  203 

widower.  "  Do  you  want  money  ?  I  can  let  you  have  a  little, 
if  you  like." 

*'  Hush.  Let's  talk  it  over  quietly  in  this  quiet  corner,  Uncle 
Jacob.  I  am  pitiless.  Understand  that  at  once.  No  com- 
pounding. You  must  surrender  absolutely.  Better  do  it  with 
a  good  grace." 

"  I  know  you  want  to  marry  me,"  answered  Mopius,  sulkily ; 
"  and  I  don't  mind  so  very  much,  though  it's  hard  to  have  it 
forced  on  one.  I'd  rather  have  had  a  woman  with  a  softer  tongue; 
but  I've  been  looking  about  me,  and  one  has  this  fault  and  another 
has  that ;  I  always  said  you  were  good-looking,  Harriet.  I'll 
marry  you,  if  you  like,  though  I'd  rather  have  had  a  lady-born." 

"  Marry  you  !"  she  blazed  out  at  him.  "  No,  indeed,  I'm  go- 
ing to  marry  a  man  whose  boots  you  daren't  lick,  unless  he  let 
you.  A  good  man,  beautiful  as  good,  and  clever  as  he  is  beau- 
tiful— a  man  who  will  some  day  be  great,  and  I — love — him. 
He  is  poor,  and  the  whole  world  is  before  him,  and  I  love  him. 
Marry  you  /" 

"  Well,  you  wanted  to  a  month  ago,"  muttered  Mopius. 

*<  Let  me  speak.  If  you  want  to  hush  up  this  disgraceful 
story  you  must  give  my  love  " — ^her  voice  caressed  the  delicious 
word — ^"  two  thousand  florins.  He  will  be  satisfied  with  that ; 
then  he  can  pay  off  his  debts,  and  we  can  start  our  humble 
house-keeping." 

"Harriet,  it's  a  mean  trick.  I  should  never  have  thought 
that  you  with  your  pride — " 

"  Silence,  you  !"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath,  crushing 
down  her  own  misgivings  with  reckless  vehemence.  "  How 
dare  you  question  his  good  pleasure,  or  I  ?  You  obey,  so  do  I. 
Only  two  thousand  florins.  He  is  very  moderate.  He  might 
have  demanded  ten.  But  I  told  him  I  didn't  want  your  dirty 
money.  Love  can  be  happy  in  a  garret.  Come,  let's  have 
done  with  the  whole  horrid  business.  I  promised  to  call  him, 
and  then  you  can  go."  The  GoosQ-girl  put  a  whistle  to  her  lips, 
and  immediately  her  obedient  bird  came  clucking  up  from 
among  the  motley  crowd.  As  he  came  his  weary  din  gradually 
assumed  the  shape  of  "  Ja-cob  !  Ja-cob  !  Ja-cob  !"  with  terrible, 
reiterated  distinctness. 


204  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Hush,  please,  darling,"  pleaded  Harriet,  her  voice  full  of 
soft  entreaty,  "  uncle  is  willing  to  give  the  two  thousand  florins, 
as  I  propose." 

"To  further  his  candidature,"  said  the  Goose,  bowing  low. 
"  It  is  clearly  understood  that  the  money  is  paid  to  further  his 
candidature.     I  am  proud,  sir,  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

The  Goose  saluted,  with  silly  flap. 

"  And  now  he  had  better  go,"  exclaimed  Harriet. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  protested  the 
Goose,  as  Mynheer  Mopius  hastily  rose  to  render  ready  obedi- 
ence. "  I  have  only  just  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
uncle.  I  am  sure  he  will  do  us  the  favor  of  being  present  at  a 
little  champagne  supper  in  one  of  the  up -stairs  boxes — as 
host." 

"  Oh  no,"  began  the  Goose-girl,  and  checked  herself,  meet- 
ing the  Goose's  eye. 

"  I  shall  be  willing,"  stammered  Mopius,  "  if  necessary,  to 
pay—" 

The  Goose  interposed. 

"My  dear  sir,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  he  said,  loftily. 
"Is  this  the  way  such  matters  are  managed  among  men  of 
honor  ?     Harriet,  take  your  uncle's  arm  !" 

Together  the  trio  ascended  to  the  grand  tier.  Mynheer  Mo- 
pius's  supper,  as  ordered  by  the  Goose,  was  exquisite ;  the  host 
finished  by  enjoying  it  himself,  and  drinking  too  much  wine. 
Willie  van  Troyen  insisted  on  rolling  in  from  the  adjoining  box 
to  shake  the  Goose  by  the  hand.  He  also  drank  to  the  health 
of  the  recumbent  masked  gentleman  in  shabby  red  velvet  who 
was  singing  sentimental  songs  in  an  undertone,  with  unpremed- 
itated shrieks — 

"  Dear  love,  for  thee  I  would  lay  do\yn  my  li-i-fe : 
For,  without  thee,  what  would  that  life  avail?" 

The  Goose  informed  Willie  that  the  Senator  was  a  retired  Ind- 
ian Viceroy,  who  had  given  many  such  a  magnificent  entertain- 
ment in  his  day.  Willie  put  his  finger  to  his  nose,  and  imme- 
diately invited  His  Excellency  to  his  wedding  six  days  hence. 
Upon  which  His  Excellency  burst  out  crying,  and  said  that  the 


MASKS    AND    FACES  205 

word  reminded  him  of  the  best  of  departed  wives.  Harriet  sat 
staring  down  into  the  now  almost  deserted  pit. 

The  coM  December  dawn  had  not  yet  achieved  more  than  the 
hope  of  its  forthcoming  when  the  Goose  took  away  Mynheer 
Mopius  in  a  cab  to  a  quiet  hotel.  Behind  them  still  echoed  the 
loud  talk  of  the  young  officers.  They  passed,  in  the  fearsome 
streets,  a  troop  of  roysterers  from  a  gin-shop.  "  We  won't  go 
home  till  morning !"  rang  hideous  on  the  patient  night.  Here 
and  there  a  window  shone  out,  fully  lighted,  with  its  message  of 
suffering  or  suspense. 

Up  above — far,  far  above — stood,  silent,  God's  eternal  stars  ; 
watchful,  serenely  waiting,  in  the  darkness  whence  we  come  and 
whither  we  return. 

Three  days  after  the  ball  Mynheer  Mopius  paid  up  like  a  man, 
and  three  days  after  he  had  paid  up.  Mynheer  Mopius  was  sit- 
ting one  evening  in  his  accustomed  arm-chair,  reflecting  on  his 
loneliness  and  the  unexpected  rarity  of  charming  claimants  for 
his  hand.  In  fact,  during  this  month,  with  his  indecent  precip- 
itancy, he  had  exposed  himself  to  a  couple  of  very  painful  re- 
buffs. Of  course,  he  was  exceedingly  angry  with  Harriet.  But, 
really,  all  that  he  cared  for  was  himself,  his  own  comfort,  his 
own  glory,  an  audience,  especially  for  his  evening  songs. 

In  the  midst  of  his  reflections  Harriet  walked  in.  She  cast 
off  her  wrap,  sans  gene^  upon  the  nearest  sofa. 

*'  I've  come  to  marry  you,  after  all,"  she  said,  quite  collect- 
edly. 

Mynheer  Mopius  jumped. 

*'  Harriet,"  he  replied,  "  this  is — go  away  !  After  your  con- 
duct of  last  week,  go  away  !" 

"  I  forgive  your  conduct,"  said  Harriet,  unmoved. 

"  And  the — the  Goose  you  were  in  love  with  ?"  inquired  Myn- 
heer Mopius,  not  without  some  satisfaction. 

"  He  was  unworthy,"  replied  Harriet,  with  level  eyebrows. 
"  He  has  thrown  me  over." 

"  As  soon  as  he  had  the  money,"  said  Mynheer  Mopius,  rub- 
bing his  palms  between  his  knees. 

"  Yes,  as  soon  as  he  had  the  money,"  admitted  the  girl,  quite 


206  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

simply.  "  It  appears  there  is  another  woman  in  the  business. 
All  that  is  dead  and  gone.  All  my  money's  gone.  I  haven't 
had  anything  to  eat  since  yesterday  morning.  Never  mind  that. 
But  my  decision's  taken.  I've  come  back  to  marry  you.  And 
I  mean  to." 

''  You  can't  against  my  will,  Harriet,"  said  Mynheer  Mopius, 
beaming.     "  Go  away." 

"  Look  here,  Uncle  Jacob,  you're  going  to  marry  me,  or — 
don't  make  me  say  the  alternative.  I'd  rather  think  you  mar- 
ried me  without  the  alternative.  It's  not  very  nice,  anyway, 
but  I  don't  intend  to  starve.  And,  as  I  don't  believe  in  men 
any  more,  it  really  doesn't  matter  much.  Now  ring  for  the  ser- 
vants, and  tell  them  you're  going  to  marry  me." 

"  Harriet,  go  away  !" 

Harriet  crossed  to  the  bell-rope  and  pulled  it.  "  What  does 
your  Worship  here  ?"  she  said,  incoherently.  "  You  asked  me  a 
week  ago,  and  I  said  no.  You  don't  ask  me  to-day,  and  I  say 
yes.     Such  is  woman.     Better  than  man,  at  his  worst." 

The  footman  answered  the  bell.  For  a  moment  Harriet's 
courage  failed  her  before  his  severe  expectancy.  "  Bring  some 
biscuits,"  she  said. 

"  Harriet,"  began  Mynheer  Mopius,  thoroughly  cowed,  like 
the  bully  he  was,  "  you  must  allow  at  least  another  month  to 
intervene  before  the  thing  can  be  even  mooted.  I  always  ad- 
mitted, Harriet,  you  know,  that  you  were  a  very  good-looking 
girl.  But,  before  I  say  another  word,  I  must  insist  on  you  go- 
ing down  on  your  bended  knees  and  humbly  begging  my  par- 
don for  your  disgraceful  conduct  of  the  other  night." 

Harriet  Verveen  understood  the  antagonist  she  had  van- 
quished. The  proud  girl  actually  knelt  on  the  carpet,  and 
slowly  repeated  the  humiliating  words. 

"  Very  good !"  said  Mynheer  Mopius,  in  high  good-humor, 
"and,  Harriet,  I  won't  marry  you  till  you  succeed  in  matching 
that  cup  you  broke."  He  smiled  to  himself  in  the  glass,  the 
future  Town  Councillor !  "  You  are  very  poor,  Harriet,"  he 
continued,  "  and  of  humble  origin.  It  is  a  great  thing  for  you 
to  become  Madame  Mopius.     I  hope  you  feel  that." 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Harriet,  meekly.     She  had  got  up  from 


MASKS    AND    FACES  207 

the  floor.  Meanwhile  the  footman  had  brought  in  a  tray  of 
biscuit.     She  fell  on  them  ravenously. 

"  Well,  Harriet,  if  ever  I  make  you  my  wife — and  I  don't  say 
I  shall,  mind — I  hope  you  will  be  a  good  and  obedient  consort, 
like  the  faithful  creature  I  have  lost." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Harriet  again.  Soon  after  she  went  back  to 
her  lodgings,  with  a  little  money  in  her  purse.  She  turned  in 
the  hall  door  of  Villa  Blanda. 

"  Won't  1  pay  you  out  for  this !"  she  said  aloud.  Never  till  the 
day  of  her  death  could  she  look  down  at  her  knees  without  see- 
ing dust  upon  them.  Mopius  had  cause  to  remember  his  tri- 
umph, though  she  made  him  a  good  wife  on  the  whole. 

That  evening,  far  into  the  night,  the  miserable  woman  lay  at 
the  open  window  of  her  garret,  with  her  forehead  knocking  the 
sill.  Her  neighbor,  a  poor,  blind  seamstress,  sat  up  in  bed 
trembling,  awe-struck  by  the  sobs  that  seemed  to  shake  the 
flimsy  house.  It  was  winter,  bitterly,  frostily  cold.  On  the 
window-sill,  bent,  pressed  back  again,  clammy  with  kisses,  stuck 
a  stupid  bit  of  pasteboard — the  smirking  photograph  of  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
CORONETS    AND    CROSSES 

Meanwhile,  untouched  by  the  bustle  and  slush  of  the  mar- 
ket-town, or  the  still  greater  turmoil  and  filth  of  its  more  dis- 
tant metropolis,  the  little  village  and  wide  demesne  of  Horst- 
wyk  lay  serene  under  their  mantle  of  unsullied  snow.  Surely 
each  additional  myriad  of  inhabitants  deepens  the  vulgarity  of 
their  place  of  abode,  as  when  ink -drops  fall  measured  into  a 
glass  of  pure  water.  The  country  has  its  full  share  of  vices 
— every  anchorite's  cave  has  that.  The  country  has  snobbish- 
ness, perhaps,  more  than  the  town.     But  it  has  not  vulgarity. 

Snobbishness,  be  it  observed,  is  by  no  means  a  marked  char- 
acteristic of  the  Dutch.  There  was  little  of  that  element  in  the 
heart-felt  and  healthy  veneration  which  the  surrounding  coun- 
tryside offered  as  natural  tribute  to  the  lord  of  the  manor.  The 
lord  was  a  legitimate  and  very  actual  centre  of  interest  for  miles 
around,  radiating  wisely  diversified  influence  to  all  parts  of  the 
horizon.  Can  any  thoughtful  man  dispute  that  God  had  willed 
it  so  ?  The  pursuit  of  rank  is  one  thing.  Of  that  the  Horst- 
wykers  knew  very  little.  The  perception  of  proportion  is  an- 
other ;  it  is  still  existent,  though  moribund,  because  the  masses 
confuse  it  with  humility,  or,  still  more  blunderingly,  with  hu- 
miliation. The  Horstwykers  were  not  humble — the  Dutch  peas- 
ant is  not — but  they  were  self-respecting.  It'  is  the  man  who 
dearly  loves  a  lord,  and  can't  get  near  enough,  that  wants  to  see 
him  hung  up  on  a  lantern-post. 

To  many  hundreds  of  simple  souls  the  reigning  Baron  van 
Helmont  was  the  one  visible  manifestation  of  human  greatness. 

The  Divine  is  intangible,  and,  at  any  rate,  non  -  comparable. 
The  gleam  of  the  Horst  through  its  ancestral  trees  was  a  daily 
reminder  of  Rule. 


CORONETS  AND  CROSSES  209 

The  change,  therefore,  in  the  King  one  feels — whom  we  all 
liave,  even  Emperors — convulsed  the  whole  community,  at  first, 
with  much  more  than  curiosity.  The  old  Baron  had  lolled  on 
the  throne  for  so  many  easy  years.  The  old  Baron  had  never 
lifted  his  sceptre.  All  his  influence — great  as  it  was — had  been 
automatic. 

Everybody  liked  him,  for  he  had  never,  by  doing  anything, 
given  cause  for  offence.  And  everybody  liked  Gerard,  des- 
tined, by  the  very  insouciance  of  his  open-handed  condescension, 
to  conquer  all  simple  hearts.  The  new  lord  was  an  unknown 
quantity.  Men  lifted  their  heads,  expectant,  not  decided  as  yet 
in  what  direction  to  shake  them. 

Ursula,  of  course,  they  all  knew  from  her  infancy,  but  as  one 
more  or  less  of  themselves.  She  had  lived  rather  a  sequestered 
life,  keeping  much  to  herself  and  to  her  father  ;  yet  they  had  al- 
ways benignly  approved  of  the  parson's  daughter,  chiefly  on  ac- 
count of  her  absolute  freedom  from  all  forms  of  assumption 
and  self-assertion,  such  as  clerical  womankind  too  often  af- 
fects. But,  as  Baroness  van  Helmont,  her  character  seemed  out 
of  drawing.  It  must  readjust  itself  to  their  ideas,  if  such  a 
thing  were  ever  possible.  On  the  whole,  the  peasantry  of  the 
countryside  did  not  approve  of  Baron  Otto's  choice ;  there  was 
something  incongruous  in  this  too  human  link  between  earth 
and  heaven.  Pharaoh  should  marry  his  sister,  not  his  kitchen- 
maid. 

Even  the  Domine  had  felt  this,  though  he  knew  himself  to 
be  a  gentleman.     Perhaps  on  that  account. 

Pharaoh,  settling  himself  in  his  unaccustomed  seat,  might  well 
have  wished  for  a  Joseph.  His  predecessor's  years  had  been 
years  of  fatness,  agricultural  prosperity,  but  there  had  been  no 
storing  in  granaries  to  stint  the  full -bellied  kine.  There  had 
been  plentitude  everywhere,  and  plenteous  hunger.  The  hun- 
ger remained.  Pharaoh  resolved  to  be  his  own  Joseph,  but, 
face  to  face  with  famine,  Joseph  comes  too  late. 

By  the  united  assistance  of  the  two  old  ladies  Gerard's  claim 
had  been  met.  The  Freule  van  Borck  had  been  very  particular 
about  the  legal  part  and  the  mortgage,  holding  long  consulta- 
tions with  her  notary.     In  all  business  matters  women,  starting 

14 


210  MY     LADY    NOBODY 

from  the  conviction  that  their  defencelessness  is  sure  to  be  im- 
posed upon,  insist  on  driving  bargains  of  granitic  hardness. 
When  four  per  cent,  represents  a  fair  rate  of  interest,  a  woman 
demands  six,  ultimately  resigning  herself  to  accepting  five,  be- 
cause a  woman,  you  know,  can't  hold  out  against  men,  as  she 
querulous}^;^  tells  you  ever  afterwards.  The  notary  was  com- 
pelled to  restrain  the  Freule's  fervor  of  self-sacrificial  money- 
getting.  As  the  weeks  crept  on  she  became  more  and  more 
resolved  to  assist  her  nephew  advantageously.  And,  when  ev- 
erything had  at  last  been  arranged,  the  estate  was  left  saddled 
with  a  heavy  annual  payment  it  could  barely  sustain. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Otto,  looking  round  on  the  costly  treas- 
ures he  mightn't  sell  and  didn't  want.  That  had  become  the 
brave  refrain  of  his  resolve.  ''  Never  mind,"  and  then  he  set  his 
teeth  hard.  It  was  very  different  from  the  tout  s'arrange  of  his 
race. 

He  steeled  himself,  doggedly,  and  a  little  dogmatically,  to 
"putting  things  right."  That  process,  of  course,  annoys  the 
numerous  persons  who  don't  care  to  be  told  that  things  were 
wrong  before.  Besides,  no  adjustment  is  possible — especially 
not  a  rectilinear  one — without  knocks  and  shoves  in  all  direc- 
tions. 

First  and  foremost.  Otto  had  to  do  battle  with  his  mother.  The 
widow  resented  as  an  insult  the  suggestion  that  anything  could 
need  alteration. 

"  Things  have  always  been  like  that  in  your  father's  time," 
she  said  over  and  over  again.  "  And,  Otto,  I  cannot  understand 
all  this  talk  of  yours  about  income  and  expenditure.  Of  course, 
people  have  income  and  expenditure.  Surely  your  father  must 
have  had  them,  too ;  but  he  never  worried  about  them  as  you 
do." 

Otto  knew  this.  It  had  been  a  favorite  maxim  of  his  father's 
— not,  perhaps,  an  altogether  incorrect  one — that  only  small  in- 
comes need  balance  to  a  hair.  ^  "  Rich  men,"  the  Baron  used  to 
say,  "  have  other  resources  besides  their  revenues." 

"  But  your  father  always  told  me  that  you  were  a  bad  mana- 
ger because  over-anxious  to  be  a  good  one,"  the  Dowager  would 
murmur,  querulously.      ''  The  excellence  of  management,  he  al- 


CORONETS    AND    CROSSES  211 

ways  said,  was  moderation,  and,  dear  me.  Otto,  yon  manage  more 
in  a  month  than  your  father  in  all  his  lifetime.  But  you  don't 
sell  the  art  collections,  mind.  They  belong  to  me.  Your  fa- 
ther always  said  you  would  sell  them." 

She  even  insisted  on  finishing  the  costly  decoration  of  the 
west  room,  to  Otto's  bitter  annoyance.  "  Would  you  leave  it 
unfinished?"  she  asked,  with  a  flash  of  her  old  bright  spirit. 
It  was  almost  fortunate  for  Otto  that  she  had  never  completely 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  her  husband's  death.  For  hours 
she  would  sit,  silent  and  motionless,  in  the  boudoir  she  had 
filled  with  his  portraits  from  all  parts  of  the  house.  And 
when  the  Baron  entered,  she  would  quote  his  father  at  him. 

"  I  will  spend  less  than  my  income,"  repeated  Otto,  grinding 
his  heel  into  the  carpet.  It  sounds  easy  in  a  big  house,  but, 
in  fact,  it  is  easier  in  a  small  one.  He  retrenched,  and  made 
the  whole  family  most  increasingly  uncomfortable.  When,  at 
last,  he  extinguished  the  great,  wasteful  fire  in  the  hall,  there 
was  a  palace  revolution.  The  butler  gave  notice.  "  For  I'm 
too  old,"  he  informed  Mynheer  the  Baron,  letting  him  have 
a  bit  of  his  mind,  "to  expose  my  life  at  my  age  in  them 
draughty  passages." 

*'Very  well,  go,"  said  Otto,  fiercely.  But  he  didn't  like  it. 
The  man  had  been  with  them  for  years.  The  Dowager- 
Baroness  cried  at  thought  of  his  leaving.  All  the  servants 
looked  sullen  and  demonstratively  blue-nosed.  For  weeks  the 
new  master  had  been  causing  them  successive  annoyance. 
Some  kind  of  chivalry  taught  him  to  screen  his  young  wife. 

"  Let  me  do  it,  dear,"  pleaded  Ursula,  when  Otto  complained 
that  he  must  speak  to  the  cook.  "  Surely  that  is  my  depart- 
ment." 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is,"  he  said,  looking  out  of  the  window.  "  Oh 
yes." 

*'Well,  then,  what  has  she  done?  She  seems  to  me  a  nice, 
pleasant-spoken  person." 

"  Oh,  they  are  all  that,"  cried  Otto,  facing  round,  with 
sudden  eloquence.  "  They  are  all  nice,  all  pleasant-spoken ! 
My  father's  people  always  were.  Imagine,  Ursula,  that  this 
woman,  whom  mamma  has  had  in  her  service  for  fifteen  years, 


212  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

daily — mind  you,  daily — writes  down  a  pound  of  meat  more 
than  the  butcher  brings,  and  divides  the  profits  with  him  !" 

"  How  can  she  ?"  objected  Ursula,  who  had  not  yet  got  ac- 
customed to  a  household  in  which  such  things  were  possible, 
and  even  proper. 

"  How  ?  Don't  ask  me  how.  I  suppose  she  calls  it  "  per- 
quisites." I  met  an  English  marquess  once,  who  told  me  that  in 
his  father's  time  the  annual  beer-bill  had  touched  two  thousand 
pounds.  His  was  three  hundred.  It's  all  a  question  of  author- 
izing theft  by  silence.  Keep  your  fingers  off  the  tap.  That's 
all."    He  laughed. 

"  I'll  weigh  the  meat  to-morrow  myself,"  cried  Ursula,  rising 
already  to  do  it.  "  That  will  stop  them  at  once.  We  weigh 
it  at  home ;  that's  to  say.  Aunt  Mopius  often  does.  And  I've 
had  to  scold  Oskamp's  boy  before.  I  should  never  have 
thought  it  of  Oskamp.  I  suppose.  Otto,  your  mother  never 
weighs  the  meat  ?" 

Otto  smiled. 

"  So  that  will  be  all  right.  Don't  worry,  dear,  I'll  see  to  it 
myself." 

"  No,  I  think  you  had  better  not,"  reasoned  Otto,  gravely. 
"  I — I  think  I  had  better  do  it.  My  mother,  you  see,  Ursula, 
will  take  anything  of  that  kind  more  easily  from  me." 

He  hurt  her  cruelly,  for  it  was  by  no  means  the  first  time 
she  had  thus  been  checked  in  the  well-meant  endeavor  to  as- 
sume her  legitimate  duties.  She  turned  away  in  silence,  and 
took  up  some  needle-work. 

Somehow  he  realized,  helplessly,  that  things  were  again 
uncomfortable.  "  My  dear  child,"  he  explained,  "it  is  only  be- 
cause I  am  anxious  to  shield  you." 

But  she  stopped  him. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  shielded,"  she  said,  quickly ;  "  at  least, 
not  always.'''' 

And  she  beat  back  her  emotion,  looking  away,  with  trem- 
bling lip. 

He  stood,  uncertain,  gazing  at  her,  and  his  eyes  grew  half- 
reproachful. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  you  don't  understand !"  she  exclaimed,  un- 


CORONETS    AND    CROSSES  213 

willingly  reading  his  thoughts.  "You  have  married  a  play- 
thing, Otto.     You  cannot  comprehend  my  wanting  to  be  a  wife." 

"  My  dear  child  " —  he  began. 

He  too  constantly  called  her  that.  She  detested  the  name. 
She  knew  well  enough  how  much  he  was  her  elder. 

"  I  am  not  a  child,"  she  cried,  passionately.  "  I  am  a 
woman,  and  your  wife." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  sternly,  reading  discontent  in  her  pent-up 
vehemence,  and  perhaps  a  little  assumption;  "you  are  now  the 
Baroness  van  Helmont." 

"  I  am  not.  I  am  not !"  she  cried,  recklessly,  and  dropped 
her  work  in  her  agitation.  "I  mean  I  am  not  that  only.  I 
am  sick  of  merely  being  that.  I  am  your  wife.  Otto.  I  have 
a  right  to  be  recognized  as  such." 

Otto  paced  down  the  large  room  and  up  a^in. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  stiffly,  "  that  you  consider  yourself 
slighted  by  any  one,  but  I  cannot  ask  my  mother  to  leave  the 
house.  There  are  difficulties,  of  course,  in  your  position.  I 
am  the  first  to  admit  them.  We  all  have  difficulties.  Often 
they  are  unavoidable.     Yours  seem  so  to  me." 

She  looked  at  him,  her  brown  eyes  dilated  with  horror; 
then  suddenly,  very  sweetly,  her  tenderness  flowed  across  them. 

""Oh,  Otto,"  she  said,  softly,  "why  do  we  so  constantly  mis- 
understand each  other  ?  It  is  you  by  whom  I  want  to  be  rec- 
ognized as  your  wife — nobody  else  !" 

Then  he  caught  her  to  his  breast,  and  kissed  her  seriously, 
as  they  kiss  who  love  deeply,  but  apart. 

"  I  want  to  take  my  share  of  your  work,"  she  continued, 
caressingly,  "and,  especially,  my  share  of§your  worry.  1  am 
so  tired.  Otto,  of  sitting  in  the  big  drawing-room.  To  you, 
at  leasts  1  want  not  to  be  *  My  Lady  Nobody.'  I  didn't  marry 
you  for  that." 

"  What  did  you  marry  me  for,"  he  questioned,  playfully. 

"  Certainly  not  for  that,"  she  replied,  gravely,  and  the  answer 
fell  cold  on  his  heart,  for  all  that  it  left  unsaid.  A  moment 
afterwards  she  added,  "  Of  course,  because  I  love  you."  She 
thoughtfully  spoke  her  conscientious  verity;  but  love  is  quicker 
than  thought. 


214  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

He  left  lier,  with  a  kind  little  pat.  of  encouragement,  and 
she  sank  down  beside  the  dog,  hiding  her  sunny  brown  head 
in  the  softly  responsive  fur.  She  could  feel  Monk's  great  heart 
beating  gravely.  The  room  was  very  large  and  empty,  the 
liouse  was  very  large. 

Yes,  though  he  did  not  realize  it,  Otto  van  Helmont  had 
married  his  wife  for  her  face — a  sweet  apparition,  bright  and 
fresh  among  the  home-flowers,  a  suggestion  of  the  dear  father- 
land, a  dream  of  wholesome  Dutch  girlhood.  He  had  married 
for  that  most  unsatisfactory  of  all  reasons :  "  because  he  had 
fallen  in  love."  Not  even  a  fortnight — be  it  remembered — had 
elapsed  between  his  first  sight  of  Ursula  and  their  engagement. 
A  man  must  either  know  his  wife  before  he  learns  to  love  her, 
or  else  he  must  never  need  to  love  her,  or  else  he  will  certainly 
never  learn  to  know  her.  That  last  eventuality,  the  rarest,  is 
surely  the  most  desirable,  but  only  if  the  love  be  mutual,  and 
exceedingly  great. 

Otto,  then,  had  never  penetrated  into  a  character  whose  re- 
serve was  so  like  his  own  that  he  could  not  understand  it.  He 
loved  his  young  wife,  and  kissed  her ;  and  he  fancied,  like  so 
many  men,  that  his  consciousness  of  loving  her  was  sufficient 
for  all  her  wants.  As  for  her  position  in  the  house,  in  the 
family,  if  it  was  uncomfortable,  could  he  help  that  ?  Was  not 
he  himself  weighed  down  by  his  difficulties,  his  responsibilities, 
the  worry  of  universal  deepening  displeasure  ?  What  were  the 
pinpricks  she  complained  of  compared  to  his  wounds?  Her 
mararaa-in-law  was  inconsiderate  ;  his  mother  was  unkind.  Her 
dependants  were  not  always  courteous,  his  own  people  hardened 
their  countenances  #gainst  him.  He  could  not  help  thinking 
that  much  of  her  petulant  soreness — well,  she  was  young — was 
provoked  by  mortification  because  of  the  scant  dignity  or  au- 
thority her  sudden  elevation  had  brought  her.  Had  she  not 
said  to  him',  "  I  will  not  be  My  Lady  Nobody ;  at  least,  let  me 
not  be  it  to  you  ?" 

She  was  annoyed,  then,  at  being  it  to  him,  and  to  all.  The 
combination  vexed  her.  She  had  hoped,  as  My  Lady,  to  be 
Somebody  indeed. 

He  sighed  from  irritation.    It  was  not  his  fault.     Yet  he  was 


CORONETS    AND    CROSSES  215 

a  little  disappointed  in  Ursula.  He  had  thought  hers  was  an 
essentially  gentle  nature,  unassuming,  unaspiring.  Even  not 
desiring  to  meddle  and  share  in  her  husband's  affairs,  because 
that,  for  a  young  girl,  is  impossible.  A  thoroughly  womanly 
woman,  who  cried  out  in  horror  at  thought  of  men's  work,  such 
as  sheep-slaughtering,  or  of  men's  play,  such  as  a  fox-hunt ;  a 
woman  who  could  be  tacitly  brave,  on  occasion,  able  to  endure 
though  unable  to  act.  Thus  had  she  revealed  herself  to  him  in 
the  week  of  his  swift  immersion,  his  model  woman,  in  a  word. 
That  is  the  worst  of  tumbling  into  love.  You  marry  your 
model  woman  and  have  to  live  with  your  wife.  Now,  Ursula 
was  far  superior  to  Otto's  ideal.  There  is  nothing  more  hope- 
less in  human  relationships. 

He  turned  impatiently  from  himself  and  went  down  to  the 
room  where  his  bailiff  was  waiting.  All  that  morning  he  had 
been  weighed  down  by  the  prospect  of  this  interview.  No,  he 
was  not  the  man,  in  his  gentleness  of  heart,  to  "  set  things 
right." 

"  You  can  do  as  you  like,"  he  cried,  starting  up  from  the 
other's  excuses  and  tergiversations.  "You  can  go  or  you  can 
stay.  But  never  again,  if  I  live" — his  heart  throbbed  wildly 
as  he  bent  that  cruel,  hated  look  of  his  on  the  sullen  retainer — 
"  never  again,  by  God,  shall  you  charge  one  and  eight  for  a 
laborer's  wages  while  paying  him  one  and  five !" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
FREULE     LOUISA 

In  the  gray  loneliness  of  Ursula's  married  life  there  was, 
however,  very  little  solitude.  The  house  contained  too  many 
various  elements  for  that.  And  county  society,  which  was 
plentiful,  took  a  great  interest  in  her  on  account  of  the  romance 
of  her  courtship.  By  the  coincidence  of  the  old  Baron's  im- 
mediately subsequent  death,  she  had  come  face  to  face  with  her 
whole  circle  of  acquaintance,  during  the  days  of  her  debut  at 
the  Manor-house,  through  the  medium  of  that  most  trying  of 
social  functions,  the  visit  of  condolence.  All  these  people 
knew  her  from  her  birth  ;  many  of  them  called  her  by  her 
Christian  name ;  it  seemed  to  her,  and  to  them,  that  she  was 
masquerading.     She  was  nobody's  cousin. 

And  the  Matres  Familias  who  looked  regretfully  at  Otto — 
there  were  many  such — could  hardly  be  expected  to  'look  be- 
nignly on  Ursula.  But  they  all  patronized  her  most  amiably, 
and  patted  her  on  the  back,  and  showed  that  they  were  trying 
to  "  make  her  feel  quite  like  one  of  us."  And  Ursula,  who 
could  not  be  unnatural,  nevertheless  strove  hard  to  be  natural — 
if  any  one  fathoms  what  is  meant  by  that  combination  of  mis- 
eries !  The  whole  lot  of  them  studied  her  attitude,  and  com- 
pared her  with  what  she  was  before  her  marriage,  and  endeav- 
ored to  accentuate  a  difference.  One  dear  old  lady  told  her 
kindly  ''that  she  really  did  very  well."  Another  took  her 
aside  :  "  Do  not  be  self-conscious,  dear  Ursula,"  she  said.  "  Just 
be  yourself,  my  dear,  just  as  you  were  formerly.  We  like  you 
best  like  that."  Surely,  there  was  no  cause  for  the  historic 
Lady  Burleigh  to  "  take  on  "  so ;  before  her  marriage  she  had 
not  resided  in  Stamford-town. 


FREULE    LOUISA  217 

The  Dowager-Baroness  was  far  too  well-bred  to  mortify  her 
young  rival  intentionally ;  she  was  far  too  well-bred  not  to  do 
so  daily  without  Intention.  The  Domine's  daughter  must  now 
take  precedence  ?  Impossible.  Mevrouw  van  Helmont  retained 
her  seat  at  the  head  of  her  table.  The  servants  came  to  Me- 
vrouw for  orders  ;  not  that  Ursula  cared  at  all  about  this,  or 
wished  in  any  way  to  domineer,  but  her  clear  nature  shrank 
from  the  discomfort  of  hourly  confusion.  "  Oh,  what  does  it 
matter  !"  thought  Otto,  harassed  by  the  real  troubles  of  his 
own  administration.  His  wife  did  not  complain  to  him.  She 
retired  to  the  big  drawing-room,  with  empty  hands,  and  found 
solace  for  hours  at  her  beloved  piano.  It  was  a  superb  Stein- 
way  grand  of  the  old  Baron's  buying,  very  different  from  the 
little  cottage  instrument  at  the  Parsonage.  For.  years  it  had 
been  the  object  of  Ursula's  secret  envy,  and  now  it  was  the  one 
acquisition  she  heartily  rejoiced  in  among  all  the  grandeurs  of 
the  great  house  which  were  not  even  hers. 

"  Does  Ursula  always  play  the  piano  ?"  asked  the  Dowager, 
wearily,  when  her  son  came  in  to  visit  her.  "  Did  she  never  do 
anything  else  in  her  old  home  ?" 

"  She  is  such  a  first-rate  musician,  mamma,"  apologized  Otto. 
"  That  requires  a  great  deal  of  constant  practice." 

"  I  suppose  so.  In  my  day  nobody  was  a  first-rate  musician, 
except  the  professionals." 

"  So  much  has  changed,"  said  Otto,  patiently. 

"  Perhaps."  The  Dowager  was  making  a  spring-coat  for 
Plush,  what  the  French  call  a  demi-saison  ;  she  laid  down  the 
sky-blue  scrap  upon  her  heavy  crape.  "  Still,  Otto,  I  wish 
things  could  be  arranged  a  little  differently.  Does  it  not  strike 
you  as  rather  incongruous,  with  an  eye  to  the  servants  and  the 
tradespeople,  that  this  house  of  mourning  should  resound  with 
dance-music  from  daybreak  to  dark  ?" 

Otto  went  to  his  wife.  "  I  like  the  playing  very  much  In- 
deed," he  said.  "  But  a  little  solemn  music  would  make  a  de- 
lightful change.     Do  you  always  prefer  dances,  Ursula  ?" 

*'  This  is  a  scherzo,  Otto,  out  of  one  of  Beethoven's  sym- 
phonies." 

"  Is  it  ?     I  wish  it  sounded  a  little  less — gay." 


218  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Ursula  struck  the  piano  a  violent  crash,  and  then  ostenta- 
tiously dragged,  banging  through  the  same  composer's  "  Marche 
Funebre."  Towards  the  end  she  looked  up  defiantly  at  her  hus- 
band standing  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window  with  folded  arms. 
Suddenly  she  broke  away  from  the  music,  and  threw  herself 
on  Ids  breast. 

''  I  am  sorry,"  she  said. 

The  Freule  van  Borck  was  the  member  of  the  household — an 
unimportant  member — who  took  most  interest  in  the  new-comer. 
Otto's  fondness  seemed  devoid  of  investigation,  like  his  moth- 
er's apathy,  but  Aunt  Louisa  looked  upon  the  fresh  factor  in 
her  old  maid's  life  of  fuss-filled  monotony  as  a  worthy  sub- 
ject of  scientific  experiment.  Was  Ursula — or  was  she  not — 
quelqu'un?     That,  said  the  Freule  van  Borck,  is  the  question. 

Louisa  van  Borck  had  created  for  herself  a  peculiar  position 
in  her  sister's  family.  Some  twenty  years  ago  her  tiresome  ex- 
istence with  her  old  father  in  the  Hague  had  come  suddenly  to 
an  end  through  the  conclusive  collapse  of  Mynheer  van  Borck's 
financial  operations.  He  was  about  seventy  at  the  time,  and 
she  thirty  -  eight.  She  had  never  wanted  to  marry,  nor  had 
she  ever  had  an  opportunity  of  wanting.  Her  ambition  had 
always  been  to  live  with  herself,  occupying,  enlarging,  and 
fully  inhabiting  her  own  little  entity,  as  few  of  us  find  time 
to  do.  That  nothing  much  came  of  it  was  hardly  her  fault. 
She  had  a  lot  of  little  fads  and  fancies  with  which  she  dressed 
up  her  soul  for  want  of  better  furniture. 

"  We  must  go  and  live  with  the  Van  Helmonts,"  Louisa  had 
said  to  her  protesting  parent.     "  It  is  unavoidable." 

"  But,  Louisa,  your  money,  your  share  of  your  mother's 
money — " 

"  Cannot  support  us  both.  Besides,  I  don't  intend  to  die  in 
a  workhouse." 

So  the  old  gentleman  had  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  sweets 
of  the  "  Residency,"  and  die  away  into  the  wilderness.  Of 
course,  the  Van  Helmont's  made  room  for  their  relatives.  "  So 
that's  settled,"  said  the  lord  of  the  Horst.  Tout  s'arrange. 
But  grandpapa's  brain  soon  got  clogged,  in  the  still  country  at- 


FREULE    LOUISA  219 

mospliere,  from  inertia  and  want  of  winding  up.  For  many 
years  his  body  vegetated  in  an  upper  room,  with  an  attendant 
and  a  box  full  of  toys.  Nobody  objected  to  him,  nor  was  any 
one  ever  unkind.  Besides,  he  had  still  his  pension  of  four  hun- 
dred a  year,  which  made  a  welcome  addition  to  the  family  rev- 
enues.    Yet  it  was  he  they  regretted  mildly  when  he  died. 

Freule  Louisa  could  not  honestly  be  accused  of  unthriftiness. 
"  I  know  nothing  about  money  matters,"  she  was  wont  to  ex- 
claim, with  pink -spotted  agitation.  "  You  mustn't  talk  to  me 
about  money.  I  haven't  got  any  to  spend."  Nobody  knew 
how  much  of  her  private  fortune  was  still  in  her  possession,  or 
how  much  she  had  possibly  lost  by  investments.  "  You  will 
see,"  Baron  Theodore  had  always  prophesied,  "  Louisa  will  die 
a  pauper."     His  wife  doubted  it. 

She  had  insisted  upon  making  an  arrangement  with  her  rela- 
tions which  was  especially  antipathetic  to  their  temperament. 
She  paid  a  "  pension  "  price  for  herself  and  maid  of  so  much 
per  diem,  with  deduction  of  one-half  for  board  during  absences 
of  at  least  a  week.  In  addition  to  this,  she  paid  for  the  use  of 
the  carriao;e  each  time  she  drove  out,  accordinsr  to  a  scale  of 
her  own  careful  concocting.  So  much  per  hour,  so  much  per 
horse,  so  much  if  nobody  else  went  with  her.  The  whole  thing 
was  just  like  a  hotel  bill,  and  she  enjoyed  it  immensely.  "  I 
am  not  going  to  sacrifice  my  independence,"  she  said.  The 
Baron,  of  course,  considered  the  business  "disgusting";  but 
he  never  pushed  his  objections  beyond  a  certain  limit  of  oppos- 
ing vehemence.  He  simply  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  Freule's  laborious  computations,  and  the  Baroness  was 
obliged  to  receive  and  receipt  the  monthly  payments,  which 
would  sometimes  remain  on  a  side -table  for  days.  Once  or 
twice  a  dishonest  servant  took  a  gold  piece  without  any  one 
being  the  wiser. 

The  Freule  did  not  approve  of  her  sister's  domestics.  Her 
own  maid  was  perfection  :  angular  (like  herself),  middle  -  aged, 
cross-eyed,  cross-grained,  and  crossed  in  love  (so  she  sometimes 
told  Louisa),  one  of  those  bony  asperities  whose  every  word, 
like  their  every  contact,  cuts.  The  name  this  person  gloried  in 
was  Hephzibah,  and  she  belonged  to  a  religious  sect  which  was 


220  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

supposed  to  embrace  exclusively  the  elect,  although  these,  in 
the  opinion  of  each  individual  member,  were  represented  by  a 
minority  numbering  one. 

Nobody  in  the  house  knew  half  as  mucli  about  himself  or 
^bout  any  other  member  of  the  family  as  Hephzibah.  Her 
mind  was  a  daily  chronicle  up  to  date,  with  all  the  back  num- 
bers neatly  filed.  Fortunately,  her  exceeding  taciturnity  limited 
the  circulation. 

"  Hephzibah,  I  am  watching  my  niece,"  the  Freule  remarked 
from  time  to  time.  "  She  has  an  interesting  part  to  play  in  the 
comedy  of  life." 

*'  Yes,  Freule,"  replied  Hephzibah,  who  thought  life  was  a 
tragedy. 

*'  Will  she  rise  to  the  height  of  her  position  ?  I  love  my  sis- 
ter and  I  love  Gerard,  but  I  should  like  to  see  Otto  conquer 
them  both,  and  Ursula  conquer  all  three." 

"  Yes,  Freule,"  said  Hephzibah.  She  hated  the  young  Bar- 
oness, for  Ursula  had  attempted  to  show  kindness  to  Louisa, 
whose  forlorn  inanity  called  for  pity.  The  Freule's  sharp  eyes 
were  far-sighted  and  weak ;  she  liked  being  read  to  for  hours 
together,  and  she  frequently  complained  of  her  maid's  inca- 
pacity for  pronouncing  or  punctuating  anything,  even  Dutch. 

"  /  will  read  French  to  you  with  pleasure.  Aunt  Louisa,"  said 
Ursula. 

"  Oh  no,  my  dear,  no."  The  Freule  took  her  aside  in  great 
agitation.  "  I  could  not  be  so  inconsiderate  to  Hephzibah,  I 
could  not.     Oh  no." 

Still,  in  a  hundred  small  ways,  too  wearisome  to  relate,  Ursula 
filled  up  her  time  with  attentions  to  the  little  old  maid.  It  was 
a  relief  to  find  some  one  she  could  do  something  for.  She 
learned  a  lot  of  Rossini's  opera  airs  on  purpose,  because  the 
Freule  had  stated  that  she  "  adored  Rossini." 

"Otto,"  said  the  Freule  one  morning,  "I  should  like  to  speak 
to  you." 

He  stopped,  with  his  hand  on  the  door-knob. 

"  Yes  ?"  he  answered,  his  thoughts  intent  on  the  morning's 
disagreeable  work. 

"Otto,   I    have    considered,    and"  —  the    Freule   fidgeted  — 


FREULE    LOUISA  221 

"  under  present  circumstances  I  should  wish  to — pay  seven 
florins  more  per  week  for  ray  board."     The  Freule  gasped. 

"  Why  ?"  asked  the  Dowager,  sharply,  from  the  top  of  the 
breakfast-table. 

"  Don't  interfere,  Cecile.  I  see  in  the  paper  that  prices 
everywhere  are  being  raised." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,"  said  Otto,  turning  away. 

"  Well,  I  intend  to  do  it,  so  now  you  know.  And,  Cecile, 
you  need  not  make  any  difference." 

»  Difference  ?" 

"  Yes,  in  the  menus." 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed,"  exclaimed  the  Dowager. 

How  difficult  is  the  path  of  virtue  made  for  most  of  us  by  our 
relations.  During  the  whole  of  the  Freule  van  Borck's  terres- 
trial pilgrimage  she  never  committed  another  action  worthy  to 
rank  with  this  voluntary  conquest  of  her  ruling  passion.  Yet 
nobody  understood  it. 

"  Van  Helmont  of  the  Horst,"  she  said  to  herself,  **  shall  re- 
main Van  Helmont  of  the  Horst."  And  she  deducted  the 
thirty  pounds  from  her  already  meagre  charities. 

No  one  at  the  Manor-house  had  ever  been  prodigal  in  alms- 
giving. The  old  Baron  had  reckoned  the  poor  a  public  nui- 
sance ;  the  Baroness  provided  them  with  systematically  indis- 
criminate pennies ;  Gerard  flung  away  an  occasional  hap-hazard 
shilling.  And  the  new  lord  was  by  no  means  generally  gener- 
ous. He  had  very  definite  ideas  on  the  subject.  Charitable 
help  must  be  strictly  limited  to  the  "  deserving  poor,"  whatever 
that  may  mean  —  only  the  deserving,  and  all  the  deserving. 
The  word  was  his  shibboleth.   On  paper  it  looks  exceedingly  well. 

Also,  he  never  gave  money  where  he  could  give  work,  and  he 
never  gave  work  where  he  could  give  advice  as  to  work  else- 
where. He  was  forty  when  enabled  and  called  upon  to  put  into 
practice  his  carefully  elaborated  theories  regarding  pauperism. 
All  the  paupers  of  the  neighborhood,  to  a  man,  resented  a 
charity  which  had  lost  the  charm  of  the  happy-go-lucky.  But 
to  no  one  came  more  bitter  disappointment  than  to  Ursula,  o'er 
the  sun  of  whose  crescent  benevolence  her  husband's  theories 
spread  in  tranquil  clouds. 


222  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

How  often  had  she  not  pictured  to  her  father  the  wide  use 
she  would  make  of  an  expanded  scope  and  increasing  opportu- 
nities !  Shall  we  venture  to  say  that  the  constant  thought  had 
been  a  comfort,  or  at  least  an  encouragement,  through  the 
months  of  her  love-making  ?  She  had  always  worked  fairly 
hard,  with  her  limited  means,  in  her  father's  parish,  nothing  ex- 
aggerating, and  setting  nobody  down  in  malice. 

"  And  you  will  find  sympathetic  support  in  your  husband," 
declared  the  Domine.  "  I  know  that  he  suffers  greatly  under 
his  father's  bright  indifference" — the  Domine  sighed — "for 
instance  as  regards  the  Hemel." 

The  Hemel — so  it  is  still  inappropriately  called ;  the  word 
means  "  Heaven  " — was  at  that  time  a  small  hamlet  outside  the 
Domine's  jurisdiction  which  had  long  been  notorious  in  the 
whole  province  for  the  wild  and  profligate  character  of  its  con- 
sanguineous population.  The  people  were  mostly  Roman  Cath- 
olics, but,  even  had  this  not  been  the  case,  their  pastor  would 
hardly  have  paid  them  much  attention.  He  was  a  very  differ, 
ent  man  from  Roderick  Rovers.  "  The  poor  ye  have  always 
with  you,"  he  repeated.  And  to  his  colleague  he  would  have 
said,  "  Hands  off  !"  Ursula  rejoiced  to  realize  her  new  position 
as  lady  of  the  Hemel  as  well  as  of  the  Horst.  Oh,  the  cruel  dis- 
appointment of  discovering  that  the  poor  of  the  Hemel  were  not 
deserving.     They  were  everything  and  anything  but  that. 

"  Be  just  before  you  are  generous,"  said  Otto.  "  First,  we 
must  pay  our  way,  dear  Ursula,  and  that,  in  a  landed  propri- 
etor's life,  includes  an  immense  amount  of  unconscious,  and 
even  unintentional,  philanthropy.  What  we  have  left  we  will 
gladly  give  away,  but  let  us  be  careful  to  confine  ourselves  to 
worthy  recipients  of  our  bounty." 

Never  mind,  there  is  plenty  of  good  to  be  done,  as  Ursula 
knew,  without  almsgiving. 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  go  to  the  Hemel,"  pleaded  Otto  in 
the  face  of  her  efforts  ;  "  you  would  do  me  a  great  favor, 
Ursula.  Mother  has  so  many  causes  of  complaint  against  me 
already,  and  she  is  dreadfully  afraid  of  infection.  Besides,  it  is 
altogether  useless.  They  only  make  a  fool  of  you.  Nothing 
good  ever  came,  or  can  come,  from  that  horrible  place." 


^':m%.ii^ 


FREULE    LOUISA  223 

So  life  flowed  on  at  the  Ilorst,  for  its  chatelaine,  in  a  narrow 
little  stream,  over  rocks,  amid  a  vast  splendor  of  scenery.  The 
Baron,  her  husband,  working  day  and  night  in  the  almost  hope- 
less effort  to  make  both  ends  meet,  waxed  sombre  and  careworn 
beneath  the  ever-increasing  dislike  of  his  numerous  dependants. 
Towards  his  wife  he  was  always  affectionate,  closing  the  door  to 
his  heart-chamber  of  torture  and  seeking  relaxation  as  from  a 
beautiful  plaything.  And  Gerard,  except  for  the  briefest  of 
visits,  remained  at  Drum. 

When  the  Stork,  some  twelve  months  after  the  old  Baron's 
death,  tapped  at  Ursula's  window,  her  life  was  no  longer  empty. 
Suddenly  the  Baby  filled  it  to  overflowing.  Every  one  mani- 
fested an  absorbing  interest  in  the  Baby,  as  was  his  due,  even 
the  Freule  Louisa,  for  babies,  surely,  are  vast  potentialities. 
Miss  Mopius  forgot  her  slumbering  grievances  and  rubbed  the 
Baby's  back  with  fluid  electricity.  The  Domine  christened  his 
grandchild,  wearing  his  Legion  of  Honor,  as  he  had  done  at 
Ursula's  wedding.  But  the  Dowager  Baroness  very  nearly  re- 
fused to  be  present  at  the  ceremony,  for  the  heir  of  the  house 
received  the  single  name  of  Otto. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

PEACE    AND     GOOD-WILL 

"  How  cross  he  looks  !"  said  the  Domine,  benignly,  dangling 
his  grandson  on  one  awkward  knee.  "  I  believe  he  disapproves 
of  existence.  Do  you  know,  children,  it  has  struck  me  from 
the  first,  I  can't  understand  why  your  son  should  have  been  born 
with  such  a  look  of  chronic  discontent.  What  do  you  mean, 
Ottochen  ?"  He  shook  the  morsel  of  pink-spotted  apathy,  and 
laughed  innocently  at  its  unconscious  sneer. 

Involuntarily  the  parents'  eyes  met.  Otto  walked  to  the 
window. 

"  Life  is  good,  Ottochen,"  continued  the  Domine,  his  eagle 
face  alight  with  tenderness.  "  Life  is  very  beautiful.  People 
love  each  other,  and  the  love  falls  like  a  rainbow  across  every 
background  of  cloud.  Everything  is  beautiful,  especially  the 
storms."  The  baby  puckered  up  its  face  into  one  of  those  sud- 
den, apparently  causeless  fretfulnesses  which  the  masculine  mind 
resents.  "Thou  wilt  grow  up,"  said  its  grandfather,  "into  a 
brave  soldier  of  the  Cross  " — the  Baby  overflowed  in  slobbery, 
but  agonizing,  sorrow.  Ursula  hastily  took  it  from  the  Dom- 
ine's  clumsy  deprecations. 

"It  is  strange,"  protested  the  Domine,  "  that  we  weep  most 
without  a  reason.  When  the  reason  comes  we  often  forget  to 
weep." 

This  time  the  elder  Otto's  eyes  remained  resolutely  fixed  on 
the  snow-girt  landscape. 

"  He  was  frightened,"  explained  the  young  mother,  reproach- 
fully, as  she  hushed  her  screaming  charge. 

"  Frightened !  Ah,  just  so  1"  The  Domine  rose,  a  warm 
flush  on  his  face.     "  That  is  the  cause  of  most  of  our  sorrow. 


PEACE    AND    GOOD-WILL  225 

Frightened !  If  men  were  less  afraid  of  trouble,  they  would 
see  how  little  there  is  of  it.  Good-bye,  children,  I  am  going 
back  to  Aunt  Josine."  And  the  Domine  marched  off,  his  arm- 
less sleeve  swinging  limp  beside  his  elastic  figure. 

Otto  turned  round  into  the  darkened  room.  It  was  true  the 
whole  atmosphere  of  the  house  had  long  been  one  of  latent 
worry.  He  rested  his  hand  silently  on  Ursula's  shoulder,  and  a 
great  feeling  of  assuagement  spread  over  both  their  hearts. 
Tlie  Baby's  shrieks  were  dying  down  into  an  exhausted  gurgle. 
Both  parents  gazed  deeply  at  the  child. 

"Ursula,"  said  the  Baron,  presently,  "if  you  feel  strong 
enough,  I  should  like  to  have  one  or  two  people  here  for  Christ- 
mas. I  should  like  to  invite  the  Van  Helmonts  who  were  so 
kind  to  me  during  my  period  of  hard  work  at  Bois-le-Duc. 
Theodore  van  Helmont  and  his  mother.  They  are  our  only  rela- 
tions of  the  name.  And  I  think  they  have  been  kept  too  much 
out  of  the  family." 

"Are  they  really  the  only  other  Van  Helmonts  besides  us?" 
questioned  Ursula. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  recoiling  hastily,  as  she  had  done,  from 
the  proximity  of  his  brother's  name  ;  "  but  there  is  a  brand-new 
Van  Helmont  now — the  heir !"  He  placed  a  soft  finger  against 
little  Otto's  bulgy  cheek. 

"  True.  How  funny !  Do  you  know,  I  had  never  thought 
of  it."  She  colored.  "  I  never  think,"  she  added,  "  of  what  is 
so  far  away  as  that."  She  rose  and  kissed  her  husband,  and 
held  up  the  child  to  him. 

"  Otto,"  she  added,  "  supposing — if — if  there  had  been  no 
baby,  and  " —  she  stopped. 

"  The  Ilorst  would  have  been  sold  by  auction,"  he  burst  in, 
violently,  "  two  months  after  my  death.  Do  you  think  I  have 
ever  lost  sight  of  that?  All  through  this  anxious  year,  Ursula, 
the  thought  has  never  let  me  rest." 

The  words  frightened  her.  Could  anything  have  brought 
home  more  clearly  the  separation  of  their  lives  ? 

"  Theodore  van  Helmont  is  a  good  fellow,"  Otto  went  on, 
"  hard  -  working  and  honest.  I  thoroughly  respect  him.  I 
should  like  you  to  know  him.     But  he  isn't  much  to  look  at." 


226  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Why  have  they  never  been  here  before  ?  I  don't  remember 
hearing  of  them  till  you  went  to  Bois-le-Duc." 

"  Well,  as  I  tell  you,  young  Theodore  isn't  much  to  look  at. 
And  my  father  greatly  objected  to  his  cousin's  marriage  at  the 
time ;  he  never  would  see  him  after." 

"  Whom  did  he  marry  ?"  asked  Ursula,  looking  down  into 
the  cradle  and  readjusting  its  coverlet.     "  I  mean — what  .^" 

"  She  was  a  farmer's  daughter  from  the  other  side  of  Drum. 
He  picked  her  up  when  staying  here,  some  thirty  years  ago. 
I  remember  it  quite  well.     My  father  was  furiously  angry." 

"And  he  never  forgave  the  son,"  mused  Ursula,  with  one 
finger  in  her  little  Otto's  clammy  clasp.  "  Not  even  the  son. 
I  thought  people  always  forgave  the  sony 

*'  I  assure  you  she  is  quite  a  nice,  motherly  person,  and  so 
unpretentious.  That  is  what  I  like  in  her.  It  will  be  a  pleas- 
ure to  have  her  here,  if  only  mamma  consents  to  put  up  with 
her  presence.  Poor  woman,  she  told  me  she  had  never  even 
visited  her  own  relations.     I  suppose  she  didn't  dare." 

"Her  own  relations,"  repeated  Ursula.  "Isn't  that  a  dif- 
ficulty ?" 

"  I  don't  see  why,  if  people  would  only  take  things  simply ! 
She  can  go  to  them  from  here.  No  one  believes  more  firmly 
than  I  do  in  true  nobility,  but  it  is  not  dependent  on  sur- 
roundings." 

She  smiled  up  at  him ;  "  Ah,  Otto,  you  say  that  on  account 
of— me?" 

But  the  suggestion  annoyed  him  with  the  pain  of  its  volun- 
tary abasement.  "  The  two  cases  have  nothing  in  common,"  he 
said,  almost  angrily.  "  If  there  is  a  possibility  that  you  or  any 
one  else  might  draw  absurd  comparisons,  I  had  better  give  up 
the  idea  at  once." 

"  No,  no.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  them.  Baby  must  learn 
to  know  and  be  good  to  all  his  relations." 

"  Next  year  might  do  for  that.  But,  Ursula,  talking  of  Baby's 
relations,  we  might  ask  your  Uncle  Mopius  and  his  wife." 

"  I  consider  Harriet  has  behaved  disgracefully  " —  began  Ur- 
sula. 

"Just  so ;  and  your  uncle  enjoys  the  idea  of  our  being  angry 


PEACE    AND    GOOD-WILL  227 

about  the  money.  That's  why  I  want  to  ask  him,"  he  added, 
proudly. 

"  Then,  Otto,  if  it  is  to  be  a  family  reunion,  should  we  not " — 
her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper ;  she  lingered  a  button  of  his 
waistcoat — "  ask  Gerard  too  ?" 

"  Yes,  we  will  ask  Gerard,"  he  answered,  hurriedly,  annoyed 
that  she  should  utter  what  he  had  been  making  up  his  mind  to 
say.     And  then  he  left  the  room  without  another  word. 

Ursula  smiled  to  herself,  and  immediately  began  to  apostro- 
phize the  helpless  infant :  "  And  we  will  have  a  Christmas-tree, 
Baby,"  she  said,  "and  a  lot  of  beautiful  lights.  Baby.  And  warm 
socks  and  shoes  for  the  babies  that  haven't  got  any.  Baby. 
And  you  shall  give  blankets  and  coals  to  all  the  old  women, 
Baby." 

But  even  this  appalling  prospect  did  not  move  little  Otto. 
He  lay  staring  steadily,  and  that  constant  frown,  which  his 
grandfather  said  he  had  been  born  with,  wrinkled  the  raw  beef- 
steak of  his  unfinished  little  face. 

Meanwhile  Otto  had  gone  to  tell  his  mother  of  the  coming 
festivities.  The  old  Baroness  did  not  seem  to  pay  much  atten- 
tion, immersed  as  she  was  in  a  sort  of  memoir  which  she  had 
been  recently  concocting  to  the  glorification  of  her  departed 
lord. 

"  What  did  you  say  young  Helmont's  name  was  ?"  she  asked, 
suddenly,  peering  over  her  heavy  gold  eye-glasses. 

"  A  family  name,  mamma — Theodore." 

"  It  is  an  insult,"  said  the  Dowager,  and  her  gaze  once  more 
fell  on  the  page  in  front  of  her. 

A  fortnight  later  the  various  guests  had  all  arrived ;  the 
Domine  greatly  approved  of  their  coming.  "Let  others  less 
favored  share  your  happiness,"  he  said  to  his  daughter.  The 
good  Domine,  while  constantly  eloquent  of  the  battles  of  life, 
rejoiced  at  the  peace  which  he  dreamed  round  about  him.  Yet 
he  still  had  "Tante  Josine."  The  light  of  his  life  had  flitted 
away  to  the  Manor-house. 

Nobody  could  see  Theodore  van  Helmont  and  contest  the 
accuracy  of  Otto's  statement  that  the  young  post-office  clerk 


228  MY    LADY     NOBODY 

wasn't  much  to  look  at.  One  thing  showed  very  plainly,  and 
that  was  his  peasant  blood.  But  he  made  no  attempt  to  hide 
it ;  he  had  a  quiet  and  unassuming  manner,  like  his  lumbersorae 
mother,  and  would  hardly  have  attracted  attention  but  for  his 
peach-like  coloring,  which  made  him  almost  an  Albino.  He 
was  awkward  in  the  unaccustomed  vicinity  of  ladies,  and  spoke 
little,  dropping  away  into  the  shade,  unless  somebody  touched 
on  his  hobby.  This  no  one  ever  did,  except  indirectly,  for  that 
hobby  was  "  social  science,"  a  number  of  "  ologies"  unconnected 
with  life.  His  mother  often  wondered  that  so  good  a  man  could 
also  be  so  clever;  her  own  philosophy  was  of  the  simplest,  all 
condensed  into  one  unconscious  rule  :  never  to  remember  an  in- 
jury, while  never  letting  slip  an  opportunity  of  doing  a  kind- 
ness. Her  only  attitude  towards  the  old  Baroness  van  Helmont 
was  one  of  respectful  sympathy.  Of  Tante  Louisa  she  felt 
afraid,  for  Tante  Louisa  had  asked  her,  on  the  evening  of  her 
arrival,  whether  she  believed  in  woman  suffrage,  and  she  had 
not  known  what  "suffrage"  was.  The  Freule  Louisa,  it  need 
hardly  be  noted,  believed  in  no  suffrage  at  all.  "  If  only  we 
could  stop  the  million  asses'  braying,"  she  was  wont  to  remark, 
"  perhaps  we  should  hear  the  lion's  voice  at  last."  This  remark 
was  not  her  own.     She  had  got  it  out  of  the  Victory. 

The  quiet  clerk,  dull,  with  comparative  content,  over  a  mer- 
ciful volume  of  engravings,  had  pricked  up  his  ears  when  he 
heard  the  Freule  start  "  a  sensible  subject."  It  was  small  talk 
that  did  for  him,  reducing  his  brain  to  chaos.  "  The  principle 
of  government  by  majority,"  he  said,  "  being  once  universally 
accepted,  there  appears  to  be  no  logical  reason  for  leaving  that 
majority  incomplete." 

"  Government  by  majority  is  a  pleonasm,"  said  the  Freule, 
tatting  away.  She  meant "  an  anachronism,"  whatever  she  may 
have  meant  by  that.  The  young  man  hastily  returned  to  his 
engravings. 

*'  The  majority  is  always  wrong,"  interposed  the  Dowager 
Baroness,  very  decidedly,  "and,  therefore,  the  larger  it  is  the 
more  wrong  it  must  be."  She  had  remained  in  the  drawing- 
room  chiefly  from  disgusted  curiosity,  and  now  sat  listless,  her 
delicate  face  like  a  sea-shell  among  her  heavy  weeds. 


PEACE    AND    GOOD-WILL  229 

"  But,  Mevrouw,"  began  Theodore  again,  from  a  sense  of 
duty. 

"  Hush,  it  is  certainly  so,  young  man  ;  besides,  my  husband 
always  said  it  was.  I  am  so  sorry  to  see  a  Van  Helmont  a  Rad- 
ical." Her  face  flushed  impatiently,  and,  in  the  awkward  si- 
lence, Ursula  said  it  was  a  beautiful  starlit  night. 

"The  stars  are  so  pleasant  in 'winter-time,  are  they  not?"  re- 
marked Theodore's  mother,  whose  fat  hands  lay  foolishly  in  her 
substantial  lap ;  but  the  Freule  van  Borck  was  not  going  to  stand 
such  sentiments  as  these. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said,  briskly ;  "  Ursula  always  notices  the 
weather.  Some  people  do,  and  never  talk  of  anything  else.  I 
wish  you  would  tell  me.  Mynheer  van  Helmont — we  were  dis- 
cussing the  subject  the  other  day — would  you  rather  do  wrong 
that  right  may  ensue,  or  right  for  the  sake  of  wrong?"  The 
Freule  was  very  fond  of  propounding  these  problems  of  the 
"  Does-your-mother-like-cheese  ?"  order.  Some  spinster  ladies 
"  affection  "  them  just  as  their  spinster  aunts  used  to  propose 
Bouts  Rimes. 

"  You  must  leave  me  a  few  moments  to  consider  my  answer," 
replied  Theodore,  gravely. 

This  was  quite  a  new  experience  for  the  Freule,  and  hugely 
delighted  her. 

"  A  very  sensible  young  man,"  she  thought.  "  And  you, 
Gerard  ?"  she  asked,  turning  to  her  nephew  meanwhile. 

Gerard  had  arrived  at  the  Manor-house  the  day  before ;  it 
was  just  about  a  year  since  he  had  last  slept  in  the  house,  and 
his  mother's  heart  yearned  over  him. 

"I  should  do  what  I  liked  best,"  said  Gerard,  promptly, 
always  pleased  to  exasperate  his  aunt. 

"  Gerard,  you  have  no  principle.  What  does  your  cousin 
conclude  ?" 

"  Right  and  wrong,  as  we  refer  to  them,  are  such  very  vague 
terms,  Freule,"  responded  the  young  clerk,  thoughtfully.  "  But, 
supposing  the  words  to  be  used  in  their  absolute  sense  " — the 
Freule  nodded—"  I  should  do  the  immediate  right." 

"  Bravo,"  said  Otto's  deep  voice  from  a  distant  sofa.  "  And 
now,  Ursula,  will  you  give  us  some  music  ?" 


230  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Oh  yes,  music,"  assented  Theodore's  mother.  "  I  love 
music.  The  loveliest  organ  comes  past  our  house  on  Fridays. 
I  quite  long  for  Fridays  to  come  round." 

The  last  sentence  was  addressed  to  the  Dowager,  who  smiled 
graciously,  for  she  was  watching  Gerard. 

"  My  daughter-in-law  plays  a  very  great  deal,"  said  the 
Dowager. 

But  the  evening  was  long.  Every  one  hoped  for  diversion 
from  the  Mopiuses,  who  were  expected  on  the  morrow,  and  a 
general  yawn  of  relief  hung  heavy  round  the  bedroom  candles. 

"  Theodore  Helmont  is  straight  right  down  to  the  bottom," 
Otto  said  to  his  wife  as  soon  as  they  were  alone.  "  You  see 
how  earnest  he  is,  and  how  wise.  If  ever  you  stand  in  need  of 
a  counsellor,  Ursula,  I  hope  you  will  turn  to  Theodore.  He  is 
one  of  the  few  men  on  whom  I  could  fully  rely." 

"  You  are  my  counsellor,"  replied  Ursula,  wishing  the  words 
were  more  widely  true. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    SECOND    MRS.    MOPIUS 

When  the  Baronial  invitation  reached  Villa  Blanda,  Uncle 
Mopius  immediately  said  "  No."  He  wanted  so  exceedingly  to 
go  that  he  revolted  from  himself,  and  then  stuck  to  his  as- 
sertion of  independence.  For,  most  of  all,  he  wanted  not  to 
want  to  accept. 

"  We  have  no  need  of  their  patronage,"  he  said,  pompously, 
over  his  morning  paper.  "  Villa  Blanda  will  cook  its  own 
modest  Christmas  dinner.  Ha,  ha  !  I  have  no  notion  of  sitting 
down  to  a  coroneted  dish  containing  one  skinny  fowl." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Harriet,  with  an  affectation  of 
indifference.     "  Were  you  speaking  to  me  ?" 

"  My  dear,  I  said  we  should  not  accept." 

Harriet,  who  had  been  trying  to  make  up  her  mind,  was 
glad  of  this  timely  assistance. 

"And  why  not?"  she  questioned,  sharply.  "Of  course  we 
shall  go.  What  excuse  would  you  give  ?"  She  did  not  wait 
for  his  answer.  "  I  don't  intend  to  have  Ursula  saying  I'm 
afraid  of  her,  or  ashamed,  because  of  the  money  and  marry- 
ing you.  No,  indeed ;  we  shall  certainly  go.  Johan  must 
hurry  round  to  the  dress-maker's  immediately."  She  stroked 
her  pretty  morning-gown.  Her  dress-maker  now  was  the  one 
who  had  employed  Mademoiselle  Adeline. 

"Dress-maker!"  said  Mopius,  sharply.  "  Nonsense,  Harriet; 
you  have  more  dresses  already  than  my  first  wife  wore  out  in 
all  her  life." 

"  I  am  going  to  have  two  new  evening-frocks,"  replied  Harriet, 
ignoring  the  reference.  "  I  have  no  good  dinner  things.  They 
will  have  to  sit  up  all  night  to  get  them  ready."  She  smiled 
pleasantly  at  her  own  importance. 


232  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  We're  not  going,"  said  Mopins,  settling  his  bull  neck  into 
his  shiny  collar. 

She  looked  across  at  him  quickly,  and  again  she  smiled. 

"Yes,  we  are,  because  I  want  to,"  she  said,  cruelly,  without 
a  shadow  of  playfulness.  Mopius  by  this  time*  had  resolved 
that  wild  horses  should  not  drag  him  to  the  Horst. 

A  simple  Dutchwoman,  however,  is  not  a  wild  horse.  Alas, 
she  is  more  commonly  a  jade.     Occasionally  she  is  a  mule. 

Harriet  sat  down,  watching  her  husband's  sullen  face.  Sud- 
denly, from  love  of  ease,  she  changed  her  tone. 

"  Did  he  want  to  stay  at  home  with  his  own  wifie  ?"  she  said, 
"  like  two  turtles  in  a  nest.  Did  he  want  to  have  a  Christmas- 
tree  all  to  themselves,  and  buy  her  a  lot  of  lovely  presents  ? 
That  was  good  of  him,  and  his  wifie  will  give  him  a  kiss  for  it." 

In  the  first  months  of  their  married  life  this  tone  had  been 
fairly  successful ;  it  had  obtained  for  her  the  numerous  fineries 
of  which  Jacobus's  soul  now  repented. 

"  Stop  fooling,  Harriet,"  he  now  said,  most  unexpectedly. 
"  I'm  going  to  remain  where  I  am  because  I  hate  dancing  at- 
tendance on  lords  and  beggarly  great  people.  I'm  a  rich  man, 
I  am.  And  besides  there's  a  meeting  of  the  Town  Council  on 
Tuesday." 

"  Did  you  hear  me  suggest,"  continued  Harriet,  sweetly,  "  that 
it  was  my  intention  to  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  hold  your  tongue  and  attend  to  your  house-keeping. 
The  beef  was  underdone  yesterday.  It  never  used  to  be  in  my 
dear  departed's  time." 

"Jacobus,  that  is  your  second  allusion  this  morning  to  your 
dead  wife.  It  marks  a  new  departure,  for  till  now  you  had 
wisely  kept  her  in  the  background.  But  I  must  warn  you,  once 
for  all,  that  I  won't  stand  it.  Besides,  it's  quite  useless.  Didn't 
I  know  the  poor  fool?  Wasn't  I  present  at  her  daily  sacrifice? 
I  am  perfectly  aware  that  she  loved  you  in  a  different  way  from 
mine.  She  was  like  a  faithful  dog,  poor  creature,  and  you  led 
her  a  dog's  life." 

A  reproachful  tear — not  self-reproachful — stood  in  Mynheer 
Mopius's  yellow  eye. 

"  Mine  is  a  more  natural  affection.     I  love  you  in  a  reason- 


THE    SECOND    MRS.    MOPIUS  233 

able,  matrimonial  way.  Not  only  for  your  gray  hairs  " — Jacobus 
winced — "  but  also  for  the  comforts  of  our  mutual  entente.  So 
we  shall  order  two  nice  new  dresses  and  depart  on  Tuesday 
morning." 

"  Your  aunt  was  a  better  woman  than  you,  Harriet." 

"  She  was  not  my  aunt ;  don't  call  her  so.  Of  course  she 
was  much  better  than  I.  Had  she  not  been,  you  would  have 
been  a  better  man." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Mynheer  Mopius,  helplessly,  "  but 
I  am  not  going  to  the  Horst." 

"  J9o?^'^  want  to  see  wheels  go  round,"  quoted  Harriet,  whose 
course  of  novel-reading  in  all  languages  was  very  extensive, 
"  but  you  will,  though." 

She  went  over  to  her  writing-table  and  carefully  indited  a 
little  note.  Jacobus  sat  watching  her  nervously.  She  closed 
her  envelope  and  got  up  without  speaking. 

"  Written  to  Ursula  ?"  asked  her  apprehensive  lord. 

"  Oh  dear,  no ;  there's  time  enough  for  that.  It's  a  note  to 
Madame  Javardy,"  and  she  rang  the  bell.  "  Take  this  at  once," 
she  said  to  the  servant. 

Mynheer  Mopius  rose  on  his  spindle  legs,  protuberant  and 
goggling. 

"  I  am  master  of  this  house,"  he  began,  *'  and  I  forbid — " 

"Leave  the  room,  Johan,"  broke  in  Harriet,  with  suppressed 
vehemence;  and,  turning,  as  the  man  obeyed,  "Jacobus,"  she 
said,  "  listen  to  me  for  one  moment.  That  man  knows  you  ill- 
treated  your  first  wife.  Everybody  in  the  house  knows  it,  but 
Drum  society  doesn't,  so  you  needn't  mind.  Poor  thing,  she 
never  told;  but  I  shall,  mind  you.  Mynheer  the  Town  Coun- 
cillor. If  you  ill-treat  me,  I  shall  cry  out — cry  out  as  far  as — 
as  Mevrouw  Pock,  for  instance,  and  leave  the  rest  to  her  !" 

"  Ill-treat  you,  Harriet !"  spluttered  Mynheer  Mopius. 

'*  Yes,  ill-treat  me.  Do  you  know  what  they  call  Mevrouw 
Pock  in  Drum  ?  '  Sister  Ann,'  because  she's  always  on  the 
lookout  for  tidings.  Mind  they  don't  call  you  '  Bluebeard ' 
at  the  Club  to-night." 

"  They'll  say  :  What  did  you  marry  me  for  ?"  cried  Jacobus. 

"  Yes,  they  will — the  women  will ;  but  the  men  will  pity  me, 


234  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

because  I'm  young  and  good  looking,  and  you're — old,  Jacobus. 
Oh,  don't  bother,"  she  went  on,  hastily  ;  "  I'm  sure  I  make  you 
comfortable  enough,  and  you  can  have  everything  you  want. 
Only,  I'm  not  going  to  put  up  with  being  teased  out  of  pure 
whim,  as  you  used  to  do.  If  you've  a  reason  for  stopping,  I'll 
stop,  but  as  you've  no  reason,  we  go." 

She  swept  to  the  door. 

"  Harriet,"  said  Mopius,  solemnly ;  "  this  is  very  wrong. 
You  make  scenes,  Harriet ;  a  thing  I  detest — " 

She  came  back  to  him. 

"  Scenes,"  she  repeated.  "  No,  indeed.  This  is  merely  a 
conversation.  If  we  were  to  have  a  scene"  —  her  dark  eyes 
flashed — •"  I  think  I  should  beat  you,  and  if  we  were  to  have  a 
second,  I — I  should  kill  you.  But  we  love  each  other ;  pray 
don't  let  us  have  scenes." 

She  left  her  consort  to  preen  his  ruffled  feathers. 

Said  Harriet  on  the  night  of  her  arrival  at  the  Manor- 
house: 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  for  a  moment,  Ursula,  where  nobody 
can  hear  us.     Come  into  my  room." 

Ursula  followed,  wondering. 

Harriet  stood  by  her  dressing-table  in  Madame  Javardy's 
wonderful  white  cashmere,  all  embroidery,  with  silken  Edel- 
weiss.    She  seemed  uncertain  how  to  begin. 

"  Ursula,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  suppose  you  were  very  angry 
with  me,  weren't  you,  for  marrying  your  Uncle  Mopius  ?" 

"I?"  exclaimed  Ursula,  in  amazement.  "No,  indeed;  why 
should  I—" 

Then  she  reddened,  suddenly  understanding. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  remember,"  continued  Harriet,  "  you  don't 
care  about  money,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  Still  you  married 
Baron  van  Helmont.  Yes,  I  know ;  he's  not  as  old  as  Mopius. 
Don't  interrupt  me.  All  I  wanted  to  tell  you  was  this  :  When 
I  married,  I  looked  to  my  marriage  settlements.  Your  uncle 
has  plenty  of  money,  and  I  secured  a  handsome  jointure,  but, 
unless  I  should  still  have  children,  the  bulk  of  his  property 
goes  to  you  and  your  heirs.     I  told  him  to  make  that  arrange- 


THE    SECOND    MRS.    MOPIUS  235 

ment  and  saw  to  his  doing  it.  /  don't  want  money  for  money's 
sake,  nor  more  than  I'm  entitled  to.     Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  echoed  Ursula,  and  drew  hesitatingly  nearer. 

"  Don't,"  said  the  bride,  holding  her  aloof.  "  I'm  all  right, 
thanks.     What  a  dear  little  boy  you  have  !     Good-night." 


I 


CHAPTER   XXIX 
THE    BLOT    ON    THE    SNOW 

The  brothers  got  on  very  well  at  first ;  they  sat  silent  or 
talked  about  things  which  interested  neither.  They  were  as 
little  as  possible  alone. 

Gradually,  however,  Gerard's  persistent  lightheartedness  pro- 
duced the  opposite  effect  of  a  dead  weight  on  the  other  man. 
His  very  laugh,  so  easy,  so  frequent,  jarred  on  Otto's  hearing. 

"  Debt  is  theft,"  thought  Otto.  "  How  can  he  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  laugh  with  such  debts  as  his  ?"  And  the  Baron  bent 
once  more,  with  a  resolute  sigh,  over  his  weary  pile  of  accounts. 

Gerard,  meanwhile,  was  manfully  making  the  best  of  his  re- 
turn to  his  old  home.  He  rejoiced  to  be  again  among  the  fa- 
miliar surroundings,  and  especially  he  rejoiced  in  his  mother's 
company.  He  spent  long  hours  in  her  boudoir  every  morning, 
helping  her  with  the  Memoir,  and,  therefore,  talking  much 
about  old  times.  It  was  a  difficult  diversion.  He  did  his  very 
best  to  laugh. 

He  also  did  his  very  best  to  make  things  pleasant  with  Otto. 
Towards  Ursula  he  could  not  but  feel  differently ;  he  avoided 
her  as  much  as  possible,  and  she,  in  her  eagerness  to  conciliate, 
seemed  almost  to  be  laying  herself  out  to  please  him.  Their 
relations  were  strained,  and  everybody  noticed  it. 

"  And  what  do  you  say  to  the  baby,  Gerard  ?"  demanded 
Aunt  Louisa. 

"Nothing,  aunt.  One  has  to  say,  'Tiddie,  iddie,  too-tums, 
then,'  to  babies,  or  something  of  that  kind,  and  I  don't  feel 
equal  to  it.     I  never  say  anything  to  babies." 

"  Ah,  but  this  is  the  baby,"  retorted  the  old  maid,  an- 
noyed.    "  However,  I  can  understand  your   not   caring   much 


THE  BLOT  ON  THE  SNOW  237 

about  him  ;  he  has  definitely  put  your  handsome  nose  out  of 
joint." 

Gerard  did  not  answer,  in  his  sudden  distress.  And  then, 
that  none  might  harbor  such  horrible  thoughts  with  any  show  of 
reason,  he  set  himself  to  heroically  admiring  his  little  nephew, 
and  the  forlornness  of  his  affectionate  nature  soon  facilitated 
the  task.  Ursula  was  delighted  at  this  rapprochement  on  neu- 
tral ground.  She  initiated  her  brother-in-law  into  many  shades 
of  infant  development  where  the  careless  observer  would  merely 
have  seen  a  blank. 

They  were  together  by  the  cradle  in  the  breakfast-room  on 
the  morning  of  Christmas  Eve.  There  was  to  be  a  small  dinner- 
party in  the  evening,  the  Christmas  Tree  for  the  villagers  not 
taking  place  till  the  following  day.  The  Van  Trossarts  were 
coming,  and  Helena  Van  Troyen  with  her  husband.  Helena  had 
written  to  say  that  she  must  bring  a  German  friend  of  Willie's. 

"  He  is  beginning  to  take  notice,"  said  Ursula,  for  the  twen- 
tieth time.  "  Don't  you  see  how  he  opens  and  shuts  his  little 
fingers  ?" 

"  But  he  always  did  that,"  objected  Gerard. 

"  He  did  it  without  any  reason,"  exclaimed  the  young  mother, 
sagely.   "  He  does  it  now  when  he  knows  there^s  something  neary 

Gerard  laughed,  Ursula  laughed  also ;  she  was  happy  in  the 
possession  of  her  husband,  of  her  little  son,  all  the  warmth  of  a 
woman's  home. 

In  another  moment  Gerard's  face  had  clouded  over.  "  Ursu- 
la," he  said,  with  a  violent  effort,  "  there's  one  thing  I  must  ask 
you.  I  ought  to  have  asked  it  a  year  ago.  It's  wickedness  let- 
ting these  things  rankle.  Why  did  you  make  trouble  between 
Helena  and  me?" 

A  flood  of  scarlet  poured  over  her  drooping  face.  She  tried 
to  speak,  but,  for  only  answer,  fresh  waves  came  sweeping  up 
across  the  dusky  damask  of  her  cheeks.  She  sank  down  beside 
the  cradle,  hiding  away  from  him. 

"  Can  you  not  guess  ?"  she  whispered — into  the  baby  clothes. 

No  ;  he  could  not  guess.  He  had  already  sufficiently  wronged 
Otto  with  regard  to  the  Adeline  business ;  all  through  the  year 
he  had  striven  to  convince  himself  that  Mademoiselle  Papotier 


238  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

must  have  been  mistaken.  Spoiled,  darling  of  many  women  as 
lie  undoubtedly  was,  he  had  not  enough  of  the  coxcomb  in  him 
honestly  to  believe  that  this  woman  had  acted  solely  from  pique. 
Nor  could  he  have  uttered  that  explanation,  though  it  still 
hovered  round  him. 

"Gerard,  I  knew,"  said  Ursula,  so  low  that  he  had  to  bend 
over  her  half-hidden  head.  "  I  knew.  Oh,  Gerard,  if  only  you 
had  married  the  other  one." 

Then  a  long  silence  arose  between  them,  for  Gerard  had  un- 
derstood. In  the  strange  bluntness  of  our  World-wide  morality 
it  had  never  entered  into  this  honorable  gentleman's  head  that 
any  one  could  deem  Adeline's  claim  on  him  an  obstacle  to  his 
proper  settlement.  And  now  that  strange  "cussedness,"  partly 
chivalric  and  modest,  which  always  caused  him  to  blow  out  the 
lights  on  his  brighter  side,  checked  the  easy  vindication  that  he 
had  actually  offered  marriage  to  the  foolish  little  dress-maker. 
He  stood  silent  and  ashamed.  Ursula  did  not  lift  her  face 
from  the  sheltering  coverlet. 

When  at  last  he  spoke  it  was  to  say  :  "  In  one  thing  I  have 
long  misjudged  you,  Ursula.  I  should  like  to  confess  that  just 
now.  I  didn't  believe  you  about  that  stupid  rendezvous.  I  have 
admitted  to  myself  since  then  that  you  went,  as  you  said,  for 
another's  sake."  He  understood  that  Ursula  had  somehow  con- 
stituted herself  Adeline's  protectress.  "  I  want  to  confess  that 
just  now,"  he  repeated,  contritely. 

She  did  not  thank  him  for  telling  her  he  no  longer  thought 
her  a  liar,  and  worse.  "  So  you  believe  now,"  she  simply  said, 
lifting  her  head  at  last.  "You  believe  in  my  honest  acceptance 
of  Otto."  Then  she  rose  from  the  floor,  flushed  and  troubled, 
but  with  a  proud  curve  of  her  neck. 

"  Ursula,"  said  the  young  officer,  as  much  troubled  as  her- 
self, "  I  thank  God  for  the  lesson  you  have  taught  me.  I — if 
more  women  thought  as  you  do,  we  men  would  be  better  than 
we  are."  His  young  face  was  very  solemn,  he  looked  straight 
towards  her.  Unconsciously  she  laid  one  hand  on  the  breast 
of  her  little  sleeping  child,  and,  with  an  upward  flutter  of  her 
strong  brave  eyes,  held  out  the  other.  He  took  it,  hesitated, 
and  then,  stooping,  touched  it  with  his  lips. 


THE  BLOT  ON  THE  SNOW  239 

When  he  dropped  it,  there  stood  Otto,  in  the  doorway, 
watching  them. 

He  came  forward  into  the  room,  pretending  not  to  have 
seen. 

"  Well,  Gerard,"  he  said,  with  forced  geniality,  "  so  here  is 
the  heir.  Some  day  I  hope  this  young  man  will  sit  in  my  seat 
and  look  after  the  dear  old  place  better  than  I  do." 

Gerard  resented  the  palpable  aim  of  the  words. 

"  Who  knows  ?"  he  replied,  lightly.  "  He  may  never  have 
money  to  keep  it  up.  If  he  has  brothers  and  sisters,  the 
estate  goes  to  pieces  anyhow.  What's  the  use  of  your  strug- 
gling and  wasting  your  life  for  an  idea  ?  Why  not  sell  a  couple 
of  farms  and  have  done  ?" 

"  That's  what  you  would  do,"  said  Otto,  grimly ;  "  sell  the 
whole  thing." 

"  Yes,  I  should,  if  I  really  wanted  the  money." 

"  I  know  you  would,"  shouted  Otto,  breaking  loose,  glad  of 
the  pretext.  "  I  know  you  would,  you  spendthrift !  Spend- 
thrift and  profligate,  you  would  do  anything — for  pleasure." 

His  eye  flashed  from  one  to  the  other,  and  Ursula  read  the 
flash. 

She  remained  standing  quite  still,  her  hand  on  the  baby's 
coverlet.  Gerard  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  My  dear  fellow, 
don't  be  so  angry.  I  shall  sell  nothing,"  he  said,  and  walked 
into  the  adjoining  room.  Otto,  already  ashamed  of  himself, 
went  out  by  the  passage-door. 

The  baby  was  fast  asleep,  breathing  heavily.  Ursula  re- 
mained standing  still. 

The  room  was  very  silent.  Presently  a  quick  spasm  of 
trembling  shook  her,  and  with  a  frightened  glance  to  right  and 
left,  she  hurried  away  down  the  vestibule,  out  into  the  wintry 
morning. 

She  ran  swiftly  along  the  avenue  and  turned  into  the  high 
road,  taking  the  longest  route  to  the  village  because  it  had  lain 
straight  in  front  of  her.  The  gaunt  ice-rimmed  trees  in  the 
pallid  air  swam  round  about  her  through  a  mist  of  her  own 
creating ;  tbe  desolate  plain,  stretching  white  and  cold,  seemed 


240  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

to  mock  her  with  its  snow-bound  loneliness.  She  shuddered  as 
she  ran. 

Near  the  turnpike  she  stopped.  She  would  meet  a  human 
being  there,  the  turnpike  man.  He  would  touch  his  cap.  Not 
that.     She  shrank  back. 

And  in  the  pause  she  asked  herself  where  she  was  going.  To 
her  father,  of  course,  home  to  her  father's  consistent  love — the 
one  thing  in  this  world  she  could  forever  rely  on.  Home,  to 
the  old  home,  to  weep  out  her  agony  upon  one  faithful  breast. 

And  even  as  she  pictured  to  herself  for  a  moment  what  she 
would  do  when  she  reached  the  comfort  of  that  embrace,  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  do  it.  There  are  valleys  of  the  shad- 
ow through  which  a  true-hearted  woman  must  take  her  way 
alone. 

She  stood,  a  black  speck  in  the  surrounding  bleakness.  The 
turnpike  man,  peeping  through  his  little  window  by  his  cosey 
stove,  wondered  lazily  why  she  did  not  come  on. 

At  last  she  turned,  and,*  slowly  retracing  her  steps,  branched 
off  into  the  park.  Her  one  aspiration  now  was  to  get  away 
from  all  possible  contact  with  sympathy.  She  went  stum- 
bling, as  fast  as  she  could,  over  the  uneven,  snow-laden  ground, 
deeper,  only  deeper  into  the  silence  of  the  wood.  Her  foot 
caught  in  invisible  roots,  she  hurt  herself  without  perceiving 
it.  Her  eyes  were  dry  and  hard,  despite  the  cloud  behind 
them. 

Gasping  for  breath,  she  sank  down  in  the  snow  and  leaned 
up  against  a  tree.  All  around  and  beyond  her  was  the  absolute 
desertion  she  had  longed  for,  stretching  away  in  an  unending 
sameness  of  confused  black  pillars,  whose  naked  tracery  bore 
the  pellucid  vault  of  heaven.  The  dull  glitter,  all  -  pervading, 
lighted  up  her  forest  *'  sanctuary  "  ;  not  a  .sound  was  heard, 
except  when,  once,  a  snapped  twig  came  rustling  to  the 
ground. 

Her  husband  had  doubted  her  honor.  Even  supposing  he 
had  done  so  for  the  moment  only,  during  the  briefest  flash  of 
thought.  What  did  that  matter?  He  had  doubted  her.  Oth- 
er words  and  acts  now  came  falling  into  their  places,  deep- 
ening  an  impression    never   before   perceived.      She   brushed 


THE  BLOT  ON  THE  SNOW  241 

them  away  indignantly ;  she  wanted  none  of  these.  It  was 
enough. 

She  could  never  go  back  to  him.  How  could  she  see  him  ? 
How  speak  to  him  ?  How  could  daily  contact  be  possible  be- 
tween a  husband  and  the  wife  whom,  for  one  instant  only,  his 
thought  had  sullied  ?  He  who  thinks  thus  once  may  at  any 
hour  pollute  his  thoughts  anew.  Priest  and  priestess  cannot 
kneel  again  in  the  temple  one  of  them  has  desecrated  ;  no  re- 
pentance, no  forgiveness  can  wipe  away  the  stain  across  the 
marble  god.  She  hung  staring  in  front  of  her,  and  the  soaking 
snow  crept  upwards  on  her  dress. 

She  had  no  wish  to  do  anything  tragic,  to  make  any  scene  or 
scandal.  Only  she  felt  that  she  could  not  go  back  to  her  hus- 
band's welcoming  smile.  It  was  not  the  insult  to  herself,  al- 
though that  drenched  her  cheek  with  purple  ;  it  was  the  new 
horror  that  had  arisen  between  them  as  if  a  toad  were  seated  in 
his  heart.  Gerard's  wickedness  of- loose  living  was  not  as  bad  as 
this.     Oh,  men  were  horrible,  horrible  ! 

Something  moved  on  the  white  ground  in  front  of  her,  so 
close  that  she  could  not  but  notice  it.  A  red-breast,  half  frozen, 
hopped  near  in  a  flutter  of  perky  contemplation,  wondering,  per- 
haps, if  she  was  alive.  She  pitied  the  poor  little  forsaken  creat- 
ure, and  felt  in  her  pocket,  with  a  sudden  movement  that  scared 
him,  for  some  morsel  of  bread  which  she  knew  could  not  possi- 
bly be  there. 

And  as  she  sat,  hopelessly  waiting,  she  could  not  tell  for 
what,  the  distant  boom  of  the  village  clock  came  faintly  trem- 
bling towards  her  in  one  long  stroke,  the  half-hour. 

Half-past — what  ?  Previous  warnings  must  have  reached  her 
unheard.  She  looked  at  her  watch.  Half-past  twelve.  And  at 
noon  little  Otto  would  have  cried  out  for  her,  dependent  upon 
his  mother  for  the  very  flow  of  his  life. 

She  started  to  her  feet,  and  commenced  running  as  best  she 
could  among  the  trees.  Constantly  she  stumbled  in  her  haste ; 
once  she  fell  prone  into  a  yielding  snowdrift.  She  hurried  on 
breathlessly — a  clearing  showed  her  the  house  ;  she  rejoiced  to 
see  it.  How  long  the  time  still  seemed  till  she  had  reached  the 
step  !     In  the  hall  her  husband  crossed  her  path.     She  shrank 

IG 


242  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

aside  :  the  wailing  of  the  child,  above  the  nurse's  vain  attempts 
at  hushing,  already  fell  upon  her  ear. 

Otto  remarked  vi^ith  astonishment  the  condition  she  was  in, 
but  he  said  nothing.  Gerard's  voice  could  be  heard  in  the  dis- 
tance, amid  the  clash  of  billiard  balls.  He  was  teaching  Harriet 
to  play. 

"  Go,"  said  Ursula,  roughly,  to  the  nurse.  She  flung  to  the 
door  of  the  nursery,  and,  violently,  locked  it.  Then  she  took 
the  screaming  child  to  her  breast.  Her  teeth  were  firm  set; 
her  whole  face  was  hard  and  rigid,  but  her  eyes  were  very  ten- 
der. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  went  down  to  lunch.  Her  guests 
were  talking  and  laughing.  Otto  came  forward  immediately  to 
speak  about  the  afternoon's  arrangements.  The  Van  Trossarts 
must  be  fetched  from  t'he  station.  The  Dowager  beckoned  her 
aside. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  Dowager,  "  the  butcher  has  forgotten 
the  cutlets." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

CHRI  STM  AS     EVE 

That  evening  every  one  was  to  help  Ursula  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  Christmas  entertainment ;  but,  as  usual,  a  couple 
of  willing  spirits  did  the  work,  and  the  rest  lounged  about  and 
talked.  A  big  tree  had  to  be  decorated,  and  plenty  of  useful 
presents  were  awaiting  assortment  and  assignment.  This  Christ- 
mas benefaction  had  been  a  long  source  of  tranquil  enjoyment 
to  the  young  wife  through  the  expectant  autumn  weeks ;  she 
had  made  many  of  the  presents  herself  in  the  pauses  from  dain- 
tier work.  She  still  endeavored  to-night  to  take  an  interest  in  it 
all. 

Helena  Van  Troy  en  was  among  the  lookers-on.  She  frankly 
confessed  that  she  had  come  to  enjoy  herself,  and  as  an  immedi- 
ate step  towards  the  attainment  of  her  object,  she  drew  the  gen- 
tlemen away  from  the  tree  and  around  her.  To  her  husband 
she  said  : 

"  You  may  help,"  and  Willie  walked  away  laughing.  But 
the  poor  relations  were  Ursula's  real  adjuvants,  delighted  to  be 
useful  while  finding  some  occupation  for  their  hands.  The  son 
stood  on  a  ladder  half  the  evening,  the  mother's  dumpy  fingers 
fashioned  innumerable  little  gold-paper  chains.  Willie  started 
a  conversation  with  Harriet  Mopius,  and  was  getting  on  very 
well  till  he  unfortunately  asked  where  she  lived. 

"  Why,  in  Drum  !"  said  Harriet,  whereupon  Willie  felt  an- 
noyed. 

"  Yes,  Gerard  is  my  cousin,"  cried  Helena  ;  "  I  am  delighted 
to  see  him  again  !  He  is  an  old  admirer  of  mine,  an  accepted 
lover  before  you  were  born,  Herr  Graf  !" 

She  was  all  a-sparkle  in  palest  pink  and  diamonds  and  her 


244  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

own  pearly  vivacit3\  The  German  beside  her  bowed  solemnly. 
He  was  a  very  big  German,  five  foot  eleven  by  two,  padded  at 
the  shoulders  and  pinched  everywhere  else  so  as  to  look  twice 
his  original  size,  like  an  enormous  capital  T.  Mevrouw  van 
Troyen  called  him  her  cavaliere  servietite,  and  had  naturally 
brought  him  to  the  Horst,  with  her  maid,  her  King  Charles,  and 
her  husband. 

"  You  think  me  a  child,  Meine  Gnadigste,"  said  the  German. 
"  Well,  so  be  it.  Cupid  was  ever  a  child,  yet  Venus  played 
with  him." 

"  What  nonsense,"  laughed  Helena ;  "  but  you  Germans  are 
all  so  sentimental ;  to  us  it  is  delightful,  by  way  of  change. 
My  cousin  is  not  sentimental ;  he  is  charmingly  opaque. 
Come  here,  Gerard,  at  once ;  I  want  you  to  make  friends  with 
Count  Frechenfels." 

There  was  an  attempted  challenge  in  her  words  and  manner, 
as  if  she  called  upon  her  quondam  lover  to  determine  how  com- 
pletely the  old  wound  was  healed. 

But  Gerard  had  no  intention  of  making  friends  with  his  be- 
lated rival.  He  disliked  the  man ;  he  would  have  disliked  him 
in  any  case,  for,  generally  speaking,  every  Dutchman  hates  every 
German.  The  feeling  is  inborn,  and  very  deeply  regrettable, 
but  it  has  little  to  do  with  the  more  recent  annexation  scare. 
Even  the  most  ignorant  Hollander  must  be  aware  that  the  near 
oppressors  of  his  country  have  ever  been,  not  Germans,  but 
French.  Racial  discrepancies  are  at  the  bottom  of  the  antipa- 
thy, accentuated  by  the  irritating  manner  in  which  the  over- 
grown young  Teuton  now  often  pats  his  dwarf  of  an  elder 
brother  on  the  head.  The  Count  had  been  distributing  pats 
all  during  dinner. 

Gerard  found  it  very  hard  work  to  be  happy  at  the  Horst. 
Even  his  mother  had  turned  against  him,  worrying  him  about 
a  subject  he  conscientiously  avoided  —  his  debts.  And  now 
Helena  began  bothering  him  with  a  sequel  to  Finis..  He  felt 
Ursula's  eyes  upon  him,  as  he  had  felt  them  all  day ;  they  were 
full  of  a  dumb  appeal,  he  could  not  tell  for  what.  The  eyes 
did  not  answer  his  question. 

Their   hunted    look  grew   all   the    more   alarmed   if  he    ap- 


CHRISTMAS    EVE  245 

prSaclied.  Did  she  already  want  him  to  leave  the  house  ?  And 
if  so,  why  ?  His  thoughts  of  Ursula  were  growing  more  kindly, 
more  like  the  old  feeling  of  careless  approval.  That  morning 
had  revealed  her  to  him  in  quite  a  new,  and  very  beautiful, 
light. 

"  Count  Frechenfels  is  most  interesting,  Gerard,"  said  Helena. 
"  He  was  in  the  Franco-German  war,  and  he  has  been  wounded — 
everywhere !  There  was  room.  My  cousin  also  is  a  soldier — 
Herr  Graf." 

"  Ah !"  said  the  Count,  through  his  eye-glass.  "  Is  it  you  that 
the  Baron  was  telling  me  of,  who  had  served  with  the  army  of 
Africa?" 

Gerard  looked  uncomfortable. 

"But  no,  my  dear  Count,"  said  Helena,  laughing;  "that  was 
my  cousin  Ursula's  father !  Gerard  has  never  killed  anything 
but  ladies." 

"  Ah !"  said  the  German  again,  in  a  different  tone,  and 
dropped  the  eye-glass.  "  La  campagne  des  dames.  Well,  it  is 
that  in  which  the  worst  wounds  are  received." 

"  My  cousin  does  not  think  so,"  murmured  Helena,  cruel  in 
her  coquetry.  Gerard's  eyes  blazed  with  a  quick  flash  of  resent- 
ment. His  sister-in-law  had  drawn  near,  from  a  helpless  feeling 
that  she  must  amuse  her  guests. 

"  Ah,  yours  is  a  splendid  army,"  continued  Helena,  provok- 
ingly.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  care  to  be  an  ofl^cer  unless  I 
could  be  a  Prussian.  Victorious,  irresistible,  bronzed,  scarred, 
the  cross  on  your  breast — that's  a  soldier !  What's  the  use  of  a 
sword  that  you  never  can  draw  ?" 

"  Come,  come,  you  are  too  hard  on  your  cousin,"  said  Count 
Frechenfels,  with  patronizing  complacency.  "  After  all,  he  can- 
not help  himself.  We  Germans,  also,  we  do  not  kill  men  in 
times  of  peace." 

"  At  least  not  officers !"  exclaimed  Gerard,  breaking  loose. 

The  big  Prussian  replaced  his  eye-glass,  with  silently  insolent 
interrogation. 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I,  Herr  Graf,"  continued  the  young 
Dutchman,  hotly,  maddened  by  the  other's  contempt,  "  how 
many  privates  commit  suicide  in  German  barracks,  driven  to 


246  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

despair  by  ill-treatment  and  blows.  This  year's  official  st^e- 
ment" — he  turned  first  to  Ursula,  then  to  Helena — "gives  the 
number  at  nearly  three  thousand.  Half  the  truth,  as  Von 
Grietz  assured  me,  not  counting  those  who  are  killed  outright." 

"  That  is  not  true,"  said  the  Count,  coldlv. 

"What?" 

"Your  authorities  are  wrong.  It  is  what  the  Liberals  and 
Socialists  say,  and  that  kind  of  people.  And,  supposing  it 
were  true!  Meine  Gnadigste,  I  had  not  expected  to  find  a 
Radical  among  your  friends." 

"  You  are  quarrelling,"  replied  Helena,  brusquely.  "  That  is 
very  stupid,  and  very  bad  form.  Of  course  you  Prussians  are 
brutal.  Count;  we  all  know  that,  but  it  is  what  we  like  in  you — 
at  least,  we  women.  In  our  effete  civilization  you  are  deli- 
ciouly  fresh." 

"  All  I  ask  is  to  please,"  said  the  Count,  with  an  unpleasant 
grin.     "  I  will  appear  in  a  wolf's  skin,  at  your  command." 

"  Hush,  you  will  make  Gerard  jealous  !  But  imagine,  Ursula, 
in  the  West  of  Europe,  an  officer  daring  to  flog  his  recalcitrant 
men  !  It  only  bears  out  what  I  was  maintaining.  These  are 
warriors:  what  say  you  ?" 

"  The  Frau  Baronin's  opinion  has  weight,"  smirked  the 
German,  bowing  low.  "  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  hero,"  and, 
perhaps  unconsciously;  his  half-closed  eyes  stole  round  to 
Gerard. 

"  I  suppose  if  a  man  is  a  soldier,  he  ought  to  enjoy  fighting," 
admitted  Ursula,  coming  forward.  "It  seems  a  strange  occu- 
pation for  a  Christian,  but  my  father  doesn't  agree  to  that. 
You  know,  Gerard,  he  always  declares  if  he  had  two  arms  he 
would  be  off  to  Acheen." 

"Ah,  Acheen!"  cried  Helena.  "Just  so;  that's  where  you 
ought  to  be,  Gerard !  and  every  Dutch  officer !  That's  what  I 
can  never  understand.  The  whole  lot  of  you  dawdle  about 
here  in  cafes  and  ball-rooms,  and  the  flag  over  yonder  sustains 
defeat  after  defeat." 

"  Tell  Willie  to  go,"  retorted  Gerard. 

"  So  I  do.  And  he  asks,  '  What !  go  and  get  killed  V  And 
I  say,  '  Exactly.'  " 


CHRISTMAS    EVE  247 

"  Meanwhile,  it  is  we  who  are  doing  our  best  to  defend  your 
flag,"  interposed  Count  Frechenfels.  "Your  colonial  army  con- 
sists very  largely  of  Germans." 

"  Then  why  do  you  not  defend  it  better  ?"  said  Gerard. 

The  Count  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  will  you  have  ? 
It  is  not  our  own." 

Gerard  turned  mutely  to  Ursula.  Her  eyes  were  flashing. 
"  There  are  brave  Dutchmen  enough  over  yonder,  Herr  Graf  !" 
she  exclaimed,  "and  brave  Dutchmen  enough  here  at  home, 
willing  and  eager  to  go  !  All  cannot  exchange  into  Indian 
regiments.  Helena,  why  do  you  speak  so  of  our  soldiers? 
There  is  not  a  nation  in  Europe  has  been  braver  than  ours  !" 

"  Ah,  bah  !"  said  Helena.  "  Then  why  doesn't  Gerard  go  ? 
You  yourself  said  your  father  would,  and  he  is  a  clergyman  !" 

Ursula  looked  at  Gerard.  Again  that  strange  alarm  came  into 
her  eyes,  which  still  shone  with  indignation. 

"  I  shall  not  go  for  your  ordering,  Helena,"  answered  Gerard, 
in  a  burst  of  almost  ill-mannered  spite.  "  Honestly,  I  attach 
more  importance  to  Ursula's  opinion." 

Helena  laughed. 

"  Quite  right,"  she  said.  "  So  do  I.  Only,  unfortunately, 
Ursula  agrees  with  me.  Ursula,  you  shouldn't  be  afraid  to  say 
what  you  think." 

"  I  ?"  asked  Ursula,  proudly.  "  Yes,  I  agree  with  you  in  one 
point.  I  am  my  father's  child.  I  think  every  Dutch  soldier 
who  can" — she  looked  steadily  away  from  Gerard — "should 
help  to  blot  out  the  disgrace  in  Acheen." 

They  were  standing  in  a  circle  ;  the  German  twirled  his  mus- 
tache. 

"When  I  go,"  said  Gerard,  softly,  "you  will  have  to  be  very 
good  to' the  one  loving  heart  I  leave  behind."  And  he  turned 
on  his  heel. 

"  Ursula,"  exclaimed  Helena,  "  your  evening  is  decidedly  dull. 
Your  relations  from  Bois-le-Duc  are  estimable  people,  but  your 
evening  is  dull.  I  think  I  shall  go  and  help  the  estimable 
young  man  on  the  ladder.  Make  him  take  me  for  the  top  device 
of  his  tree,  Herr  Graf.  Challenge  him  if  he  says  I  am  not 
enough  of  an  angel !" 


248  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

But  other  challenges  had  to  be  seen  to  first.  Gerard  waylaid 
his  antagonist  ten  minutes  later. 

"  Count  Frechenfels,"  he  said,  "  you  have  twice  called  me  a 
coward  in  the  course  of  this  evening." 

The  Prussian  drew  himself  up. 

"  And  once  a  liar,"  continued  Gerard. 

"  I  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  began  the  Count.  * 

"  And  twice  a  liar,"  amended  Gerard.  "  And  I  hope  you 
will  give  me  an  opportunity  of  proving  that  I  am  neither." 

"  I  am  at  your  service,"  said  the  Count,  stiffly.  *'  You  are 
quite  unintelligible  to  me,  but  I  am  fully  at  your  service.  I 
shall  ask  Mynheer  van  Troyen  to  act  for  me." 

He  was  passing  on  with  another  bow. 

"  Oh,  no  nonsense  about  seconds,"  cried  Gerard.  "  That  '11 
stop  the  whole  business.  I'll  arrange  with  you  whatever  you 
want  arranged." 

The  Prussian  noble's  eyebrows  rose  in  undisguised  dismay. 

"  Mynheer,"  he  cried,  "  must  I  teach  you  the  alphabet  of 
honor?  A  duel  without  seconds?  Am  I  speaking  to  an 
oflScer  and  a  gentleman  ?  It  would  be  murder.  Of  course  I  re- 
fuse." 

Gerard  barred  his  way,  white  to  the  lips. 

"  Count  Frechenfels,"  he  said,  gently,  "  allow  me  to  call  you 
a  coward." 

The  Prussian  stopped,  suddenly  frozeti  into  bronze.  The 
Iron  Cross  gleamed,  alive,  on  his  breast. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?"  he  asked,  huskily.  "  I  will 
shoot  you  with  pleasure  whenever  and  wherever  you  like." 

"  Come  out  to-morrow  morning  at  seven,"  replied  Gerard. 
"  It  won't  be  light  sooner.  I  shall  expect  you  outside.  What 
will  you  have  ?     Pistols  ?     Swords  ?     Rapiers  ?" 

"  Swords,"  said  the  German,  walking  off. 

He  hurriedly  hunted  up  Willie  van  Troyen. 

"Your  younger  cousin,"  he  said,  "he  is — peculiar,  is  he 
not  ?     There  is  a  suspicion  of  mental  derangement  ?" 

Willie  roared  with  laughter. 

"  Gerard  ?"  he  cried.  "  No,  indeed !  Why  he  very  nearly 
married  my  wife." 


CHRISTMAS    EVE  249 

"  A — all !"  said  the  German,  suddenly  thoughtful. 

Gerard  went  up-stairs  immediately,  after  a  specially  tender 
good-night  to  "  the  one  loving  heart "  that  would  care.  He 
threw  open  his  window,  and  stood  looking  out  into  the  frosty 
night.  The  Christmas  bells  came  pealing  through  the  stillness. 
True,  it  was  Christmas  Eve. 

The  bells  were  ringing  their  message  of  peace  and  good-will. 
Gerard  closed  the  window  again.  He  had  never  fought  a  duel 
before.  He  had  never  been  present  at  one.  Duels  are  as  rare 
in  the  Netherlands  as  in  England.  He  wondered  how  many 
"  encounters  "  the  German  had  had. 

He  sat  down  to  make  a  few  farewell  arrangements,  as  is  best 
in  such  cases.  He  wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  mother  and  a  short 
one  to  Otto.  That  was  all.  What  did  it  matter  ?  Even  sup- 
posing— 

He  was  furious  with  the  weight  of  his  dejection.  He  hoped 
that  he  would  kill  the  Prussian. 

At  her  dressing-room  window  also,  late,  stood  Ursula,  listen- 
ing to  the  bells.  They  had  long  since  ceased  to  ring,  yet  still 
she  heard  them  on  the  starlit  air.  "  Peace  and  good-will. 
Peace  and  good-will." 

Through  the  open  door  came  the  slow  rhythm  of  Otto's 
breathing.  She  quailed  as  it  fell  on  her  ear.  Nothing  could 
change. 

•'  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest,"  she  said,  tremulously.  And 
she  passed  into  the  other  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


Before  the  house  next  morning,  in  the  dull  gray  dawn,  the 
two  antagonists  met.  It  was  bitterly  cold  and  misty,  with  that 
wet  frost,  all  shadow  and  shiver,  that  precedes  the  late  wintry 
sun.  Gerard  drew  his  cloak  around  him  as  he  saluted  the  Count. 
Under  his  arm  he  held  a  long  green  baize  bag. 

"  You  still  wish  it  to  be  swords  ?"  he  asked. 

Count  Frechenfels  waved  his  hand  in  haughty  acknowledg- 
ment. 

"  Permit  me  to  precede  you,"  said  Gerard,  gravely. 

They  walked  away  into  the  park  with  quick,  ringing  steps. 
Only  once  Gerard  broke  the  silence.  "  Excuse  me,"  he  began, 
looking  round,  "  but  I  think  we  had  better  go  some  distance. 
The  clash,  you  know."     The  German  repeated  his  gesture. 

In  silence,  then,  they  reached  the  little  clearing  which  Gerard 
had  selected.  Here  he  paused.  As  it  happened,  the  place  was 
the  same  where  Ursula  had  fought  her  battle  the  day  before.  It 
was  a  natural  halting-place  for  those  who  wandered  in  the  wood. 

The  robin  lay  stiff  and  stark  with  upturned  legs.  Gerard 
kicked  it  aside. 

Count  Frechenfels  looked  to  right  and  left.  "  Your  doctor  2" 
he  said  at  last.  "  Where  is  your  doctor  ?  At  least  you  have 
arranged  for  a  medical  man  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  ;  he  would  have  warned  the  police,"  replied 
Gerard.     "  What  do  we  want  a  doctor  for  ?" 

The  German  hesitated.  "  But  it  is  murder,"  he  said,  half  to 
himself.  "No  one  does  such  things.  Supposing  one  of  us  is 
badly  wounded.  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  you  know  that  not  one 
man  in  ten  would  consent  to  meet  you  like  this  ?" 


"whosoever  shall  smite  thee — "  261 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  other  nine,"  replied  Gerard,  inconse- 
quentially. He  threw  down  his  bag.  "  Count  Frechenfels,"  he 
said,  "you  insulted  the  Dutch  army  in  my  person  last  night. 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said." 

The  Count  began  to  get  ready.  "  So  be  it,"  he  answered. 
He  took  up  one  of  the  swords.  "  It  is  the  Dutch  army  we  fight 
on,"  he  said,  significantly.  "  However  this  mad  affair  ends, 
that  is  clearly  understood  ?" 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Gerard,  with  some  slight  wonderment. 

"Very  well.  I  am  read  v, 'Mynheer.  This  is  not  a  duel,  but 
a  fight !" 

In  another  moment  they  were  clashing  at  each  other  amid  the 
surrounding  stillness,  their  swords  ringing  in  the  constant  con- 
cussion of  the  parry.  The  morning  as  yet  was  almost  too  dark 
for  their  object,  especially  here,  under  the  white-rimmed  trees ; 
but  as  the  metal  shone  and  flashed  in  the  haze,  high  over  the 
combatants'  heads  the  intensity  of  the  moment's  expectation 
seemed  to  clear  away  the  mist.  A  sword  duel,  even  when  well 
ordered,  is  always  disconcerting  because  of  the  noise ;  in  this 
case,  as  the  German  had  remarked,  the  combat,  when  it  deep- 
ened, without  umpire  or  timekeeper,  was  not  a  duel  but  a 
fight. 

"  I  shall  kill  him,"  thought  Gerard,  but  at  the  same  moment 
he  felt  that  this  would  not  be  an  easy  thing  to  accomplish.  It  re- 
quired the  utmost  vigilance  on  his  part  to  ward  off  his  enemy's 
blows ;  he  found  but  little  opportunity  for  independent  attack ; 
he  began  uncomfortably  to  realize  that  the  Count  was  the  better 
swordsman.  Also  the  Count  was  the  taller  of  the  two — a  very 
great  advantage.  Gerard  set  his  teeth  hard  in  the  continuous 
crash  of  the  other's  onslaught.  The  whole  wood  seemed  listen- 
ing, holding  its  already  bated  breath. 

Suddenly — in  a  flash  of  lightning,  quicker  than  thought — the 
young  Dutchman  realized  that  his  guard  was  gone,  that  his 
opponent's  sword  was  upon  him,  bearing  straight  down  upon  his 
unprotected  head,  with  the  certainty  of  terrible  wounding,  the 
possibility  of  death  !  With  unthinkable  swiftness  he  under- 
stood it  and  even  found  time — in  that  hundredth  of  a  second — 
to  await  the  inevitable  end.     In  that  hundredth  of  a  second, 


252  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

also,  he  saw  his  antagonist  swerve  aside  under  the  very  force  of 
sweeping  downwards,  swerve  with  a  sudden  slip  of  his  footing, 
just  enough  to  cause  the  aim  to  diverge,  while  exposing  him- 
self in  his  turn.  In  that  hundredth  of  a  second  Gerard  knew, 
as  it  passed,  that  he  had  the  German  in  his  power,  that  he,  not 
the  German,  was  become,  by  a  twist  of  the  wheel,  the  irresist- 
ible victor,  that  his  sword,  once  more  curling  aloft,  could  de- 
scend where  he  chose.  And  he  did  choose — still  in  that  im- 
measurable atom  of  existence — and  struck  his  foeman,  not 
through  the  skull,  but,  with  a  quick  revulsion  from  murder,  in 
a  hideous  long  gash  across  the  cheek. 

It  was  over.  The  Count  reeled  and  recovered  himself  as 
Gerard  ran  forward  to  support  him.  Then,  his  long  passion 
grown  suddenly  cool,  with  his  profusely  bleeding  victim  beside 
him,  Gerard  felt  there  was  nothing  left  but  to  avow  himself 
tardily  "  an  idiot."  He  looked  round  desperately  for  the  indis- 
pensable assistance  he  had  previously  scouted.  He  would  have 
called  out,  but  what  was  the  use  of  calling  ?  Even  as  he  told 
himself  that  it  would  be  utterly  useless,  he  became  aware  that 
his  sylvan  solitude  was  not  deserted.  The  figure  of  a  woman, 
making  towards  him,  became  visible  through  the  trees. 

He  recognized  her  with  immense  relief — only  Hephzibah,  his 
Aunt  Louisa's  maid.  Angular  in  every  fold  of  her  dark  stuff 
gown  and  shawl,  that  cross-grained  female  approached  the  little 
group  in  the  clearing. 

"  Help  the  gentleman  to  sit  down,  Jonker,"  she  said,  without 
looking  at  Gerard.  And  she  began  deftly  arranging  a  bandage 
with  two  spotless  pocket-handkerchiefs  which  she  produced 
from  inner  recesses.  They  were  her  Sunday  handkerchiefs 
(ready  for  the  morning's  devotional  exercises).  No  cry  of  an- 
guish broke  from  her  as  she  calmly  tore  them  into  strips. 

Count  Frechenfels  watched  her  skill  with  evident  satisfaction. 
After  all,  why  should  he  let  himself  be  comfortably  killed  in 
contradiction  to  all  the  correct  rules  of  carving?  He  was  con- 
tented with  himself :  he  had  behaved  with  great  magnanimity, 
like  the  "  grand  seigneur  "  he  was. 

"  I  will  go  fetch  a  carriage  from  the  stables,"  said  Gerard. 

The  woman  nodded,  engrossed  in  her  work;   when  she  had 


"  WHOSOEVER    SHALL    SMITE    THEE "  253 

finished,  slie  stood  waiting,  erect  by  the  wounded  man,  like  a 
soldier  on  guard. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  before  Gerard  returned  with  the 
brougham  which  he  had  got  ready  unaided.  As  Hephzibah 
established  the  Count  in  the  carriage,  the  Jonker  turned  for  one 
last  look  at  the  scene  of  the  combat,  wondering  whether  he 
could  account  for  that  sudden  slip  of  his  adversary's  to  which 
he  felt  that  he  owed  his  life.  Something  black  in  the  hard 
snow  caught  his  eye.  He  stooped  quickly  and  took  up  a 
woman's  dark  glove,  half  imbedded  and  trodden  down.  The 
Count's  foot  must  have  slid  on  the  soft  kid.  Gerard  thrust  the 
glove  into  his  pocket.  One  of  Hephzibah's  squint  eyes,  at  any 
rate,  was  fixed  on  the  Count. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  little  brougham  stopped  before  the 
doctor's  house  in  the  village  street.  The  village  street  was 
empty,  blinded,  and  asleep,  yet  Gerard,  on  the  box,  as  he  sat 
amid  the  jingle  of  the  harness,  felt  that  the  dead  walls  were 
Argus-eyed,  and  that  his  secret  was  become  the  world's. 

"  Good  gracious !"  squeaked  the  doctor  from  his  window,  in 
a  red  nightcap.     "  Good  gracious,  Jonker,  what  has  occurred  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  importance,"  replied  the  Jonker's  loudest  tones. 
"  Come  down,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

Curiosity  accelerated  Dr.  Lapperpap's  enrobing.  Soon  he 
was  examining  the  patient  by  the  light  of  hastily  raised  blinds. 

*'  And  how  did  this  happen  ?"  asked  Dr.  Lapperpap. 

"  I  did  it,"  replied  Gerard,  promptly.     "  Sword  exercise." 

The  doctor  cast  a  quick  glance  from  his  twinkly  black  eyes. 
"  H'm,"  he  said;  "an  accident.      Of  coursed 

His  tone  rendered  further  discussion  superfluous.  It  was  ar- 
ranged that,  for  the  present,  the  Prussian  should  remain  where 
he  was.  Gerard  drove  Hephzibah  back  to  the  Manor  House ; 
the  good  woman  despised  all  pomps  and  vanities,  yet  she  was 
by  no  means  insensible  to  the  honors  of  her  position.  The 
Count  had  presented  her  with  one  florin. 

Near  the  avenue  she  applied  the  carriage-whistle. 

"  I  will  get  out  here,  Jonker,  please,"  she  cried ;  and  then, 
standing  in  the  early  snow :  "  On  Christmas  morning  I"  she 
said,  while  her  whole  figure  grew  heavy  with  reproach. 


254  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Hephzibali,  however  did  you  come  to  be  out  in  the  wood  ?" 
asked  the  Jonker,  hastily. 

"  In  their  affliction  they  shall  seek  me  early,"  replied  Heph- 
zibah. 

The  quotation  was  inappropriate,  for  her  omnifulgent  eyes 
had  watched  the  gentlemen  leave  the  house,  but  the  sacredness 
of  the  words  staggered  Gerard.     He  held  out  a  gold  piece. 

"No,  Jonker,"  said  the  waiting-woman.  "Not  from  you. 
Not  for  this.  It  would  be  blood-money."  And  she  marched 
away,  gaunt  and  grim,  down  the  lines  of  grim,  gaunt  elms. 

As  Gerard  came  up  from  the  stables  to  the  house  he  caught 
sight  of  Ursula  walking  on  the  carriage  sweep.  For  one  mo- 
ment a  great  impulse  came  over  him  to  go  and  ask  her  why  she, 
as  well  as  Helena,  seemed  so  anxious  to  have  him  out  of  the 
way.  He  could  understand  Helena's  feelings — or,  at  any  rate, 
he  thought  he  could.  Well,  he  had  spoiled  the  German's  fine 
countenance  for  the  remainder  of  his  stay.  Count  Frechenfels 
would  carry  away  with  him  a  memento  of  his  visit  to  the  Lowlands. 

But  what  would  be  the  use  of  worrying  Ursula?  Gerard 
hated  to  make  a  woman  uncomfortable.  He  had  done  it  al- 
ready, yesterday — after  a  full  year's  hesitation.  And  she  had 
taught  him  a  lesson  he  would  never  forget.  How  greatly  he 
had  wronged  this  purest  among  women  !  Generous  natures  al- 
ways own  an  immense  debt  of  gratitude  to  those  they  have 
wronged. 

"Gerard,"  cried  Ursula,  "  I  have  dropped  a  glove.  1  feel  sure 
I  came  out  with  a  pair."  She  held  up  one  for  him  to  seei 
Gerard  had  a  disastrous  weakness  for  blurting  out  the  very  thing 
he  wanted  to  keep  back. 

"  Not  unless  you  have  been  in  the  wood  already,"  he  said, 
producing  the  missing  article,  which  Ursula,  of  course,  had 
dropped,  not  now,  but  the  day  before.  Then  he  put  it  back. 
"  I  want  you  to  let  me  keep  this,"  he  added. 

Her  eyes  grew  troubled.  "Oh,  no  —  no,"  she  protested. 
"  Give  it  back  to  me  at  once !" 

"  But  it  can  have  no  real  value  for  you.  Whereas,  for  me  " 
— his  voice  trembled  with  the  memory  of  his  terrible  escape — 
"  let  me  keep  it,"  he  said. 


"  WHOSOEVER    SHALL    SMITE    THEE 255 

Ursula  knew  not  what  to  say  or  think.  Slowly  she  dropped 
the  remaining  glove  on  the  ground  at  her  brother-in-law's  feet ; 
slowly  she  raised  her  faithful  eyes  to  the  level  of  his  own.  In 
that  moment,  quite  unexpectedly,  as  by  a  revelation,  he  saw  how 
very  beautiful  she  was.  He  stood  before  her  dismayed,  his 
heart  full  of  yesterday's  conversation,  of  this  morning's  experi- 
ences. "  Ursula,"  he  stammered,  "  I — I  am  going  to  Acheen — 
at  once  !" 

"  I  thank  God,"  she  said,  with  solemn  bitterness,  and  left 
him. 

Meanwhile  the  wretched  husband  shrank  back  behind  his 
dressing-room  curtains.  It  was  true  that  he  had  begun  to  spy 
on  his  wife.  He  hated  himself  for  doing  it.  He  despised  him- 
self for  believing  the  clear  testimony  of  his  eyes. 

He  went  down  to  breakfast ;  somebody  said  he  was  looking 
ill.  "  It  is  the  worry  at  the  close  of  the  year,"  he  told  his  moth- 
er ;  "  this  time  I  can  certainly  not  make  both  ends  meet."  Mo- 
pius  had  a  business-man's  suspicion  of  financial  complications. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  sacred  season  and  the  baronial  splen- 
dor around  him,  he  offered  his  "  nephew  Otto,"  just  before 
going  to  church,  a  considerable  loan,  free  of  interest.  The  Baron 
courteously  declined  it.  "  If  Mopius  were  but  a  gentleman !" 
he  reflected,  with  a  sigh. 

So  the  Domine  preached  his  festival  sermon  to  various  inat- 
tentive ears.  Gerard  had  disappeared,  suddenly  recalled  to 
Drum  ;  Helena  was  wondering  what  had  become  of  Count  Frech- 
enfels.  Willie  would  have  been  fast  asleep  but  for  Aunt  Lou- 
isa's persistent  pokes ;  the  Dowager  was  trying  to  remember 
whether  it  was  in  '42  or  '43  that  her  husband  had  broken  his 
arm  out  shooting  three  days  before  Christmas.  "  Note,"  said 
the  Domine,  "that  the  message  of  peace  is  brought  by  the 
hosts,  that  is,  armies,  of  heaven.  It  is  always  so  in  the  history 
of  the  Church,  as  of  each  individual  Christian.  Nowhere  is 
this  truth  made  more  consistently  manifest:  Si  vis pacem^ para 
helium.''''  That  was  what  the  peasants  of  Horstwyk  admired 
most  in  their  pastor.  He  quoted  the  New  Testament  at  them 
in  the  original  Hebrew. 


256  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

When  the  service  was  over,  Otto  remained  behind  to  speak 
to  his  father-in-law.  The  preacher's  last  words  still  hovered 
about  the  deserted  pulpit :  "  Not  till  the  city  has  surrendered 
does  Emmanuel  issue  his  proclamation  of  peace  and  good-will." 
Otto  went  into  the  vestry  where  the  Domine  was  resting  in  his 
arm-chair,  the  Cross  showing  bright  on  his  ample  black  gown. 

'*  I  can't  bear  it  any  longer !"  exclaimed  Otto.  "  I  must 
speak  of  it  to  some  one.     I  must  speak  of  it  to  yow." 

"  What  is  your  trouble,  my  son  ?"  said  the  Domine,  gently. 
"  If  we  confess  our  sins  to  each  other,  it  often  helps  us  to  con- 
fess them  to  God." 

Otto  started  back.  "  How  do  you  know  that  it  is  a  sin  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Our  troubles  usually  are,  are  they  not?"  said  the  Domine, 
simply. 

"It  is  a  sin,  and  it  is  not  a  sin.  I  cannot  resist  it.  It  is 
stronger  than  I." 

"  I  will  help  you  all  I  can."  The  Domine's  face  grew  very 
pitiful.     "  In  most  of  our  troubles  men  can  help,  God  in  all." 

"  But  I  have  proof,"  cried  Otto,  hastily.  "  So  much  proof — 
too  much  proof.     Only  listen,  father." 

He  began  speaking  of  his  doubts,  and  the  old  man  shrouded 
his  face  with  one  hand — his  only  one — white  and  transparent. 

When  Otto  ceased  speaking,  a  long  silence  ensued.  At  last 
the  Domine  removed  his  hand,  and  Otto  stared  in  horrified 
amazement.  The  minister's  clear  face  had  become  dark  purple ; 
veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead  which  Otto  liad  never  perceived 
before.  He  began  speaking,  in  a  very  low  voice,  but  that 
voice  also  was  new  to  the  hearer : 

"  Go,"  he  said,  "  I  have  nothing  to  answer  you." 

"  But,  father,"  cried  Otto,  "  speak  to  me.  Pity  me  !  For 
pity's  sake,  don't  let  me  lose  the  only  friend  I  have !" 

The  Domine  rose  to  his  full  height,  in  his  long  robes,  point- 
ing to  the  door. 

"  Go,"  he  repeated.  "  God  forgive  you.  I  cannot.  Not  at 
this  moment.     My  Ursula!     Go!" 

And  Otto,  stalwart  and  sunburned,  crouched  to  slink  away. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE     GREAT     PEACE 

The  Christmas  party  at  the  Manor-house  broke  up  not  over- 
pleasantly.  Everybody  seemed  to  realize  the  vague  clouds 
that  hung  over  the  dark  end  of  the  year.  Some  particulars  re- 
garding the  German  visitor's  sudden  indisposition  had,  of  course, 
oozed  forth  into  the  half-light,  bewilderingly  indistinct.  Helena 
departed  in  high  dudgeon,  frequently  repeating  to  her  husband 
that  whatever  had  happened — and  she  didn't  want  to  know — 
was  undoubtedly  Ursula's  fault.  Mynheer  Mopius  said  that 
"  the  higher  classes  of  this  country  were  hopelessly  depraved." 

Count  Frechenfels  slipped  away  to  his  native  land  in  silence, 
and  the  military  authorities  took  no  cognizance  of  the  affray. 
Of  his  own  free  will,  therefore,  Gerard  asked  to  be  transferred 
to  a  fighting  regiment  in  the  Indies,  and  very  quietly  and  quickly 
he  got  ready  to  embark.  He  was  eager  to  go,  to  escape  from 
duns  and  the  narrowness  of  his  present  hampered  existence. 
And  also  to  fly  from  a  vague  new  sensation  which,  whenever 
he  turned  to  it,  caused  his  heart  to  leap  up  with  dismay. 

"  I  cannot  understand  why,"  said  the  poor  Dowager,  feebly ; 
"  but,  somehow,  I  seem  not  to  be  able  to  understand  anything 
any  more.  It  all  used  to  be  so  different.  Gerard,  the  whole 
world  cannot  have  altered  because  your  father  died  ?"  She 
gazed  at  him  as  if  half  expecting  to  hear  that  it  had.  "  And  I 
wanted  you  to  help  me  with  the  Memoir,"  she  continued. 
"  You  remember  about  the  old,  bright  days.  Otto  doesn't 
know.     And  now  you  also  are  going  away." 

She  began  to  cry,  looking  so  white  and  fragile,  with  the 
snoring  dog  upon  her  lap. 

"  I  couldn't  sell  your  father's  collections,  Gerard,  could  I  ?" 

17 


258  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

she  complained.  "  He  wanted  me  not  to.  Still " — a  long 
pause ;  her  face  lighted  up — "  if  that  would  keep  you  from 
going  to  that  horrible  place,  I — I  think  I  could  venture.  1 
think  he  would  understand  if  I  explained,  when  we  meet  again." 

"  No,  no,  let  me  go,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  choked  voice. 
"  I  shall  come  back  to  you,  mother,  with  a  '  position.'  You 
will  be  proud  of  me." 

The  Baroness  shook  her  head. 

*'  I  am  that  already,"  she  said.  "  It  is  so  uncomfortable 
here,  I  do  not  wonder  you  have  enough  of  it.  Otto  is  always 
*  busy '  with  *  business,'  like  a  shopkeeper,  and  Ursula  doesn't 
even  love  him." 

"Mother!"  cried  Gerard. 

"  Not  as  I  understand  love — not  as  I  loved  your  father.  But, 
as  I  admitted,  I  no  longer  know.  Sometimes  I  think  I  shall 
end  like  poor  grandpapa,  my  head  gets  so  tired ;  only  I  am 
still  so  much  younger  than  he  was,  Gerard.  Oh,  Gerard,  your 
father  died  too  soon  !  God  has  been  very  hard  on  me.  I  never 
say  any  clever  things  now,  as- 1  used  to  do." 

In  the  hall,  Gerard,  still  stunned  and  heart-sore,  was  way- 
laid by  Tante  Louisa. 

"  I  have  got  a  little  present  for  you,"  began  that  lady,  in  her 
most  nervous  falsetto.  "  It  has  cost  me  a  great  deal  of  priva- 
tion, Gerard.  What  with  the  increase  of  expenses  everywhere 
— I  have  twice  already  felt  obliged  to  raise  my  '  pension,'  al- 
though Otto  pretends  to  object — I  really  can  hardly  afford  it. 
But,  then,  it  is  a  farewell  gift." 

Gerard  took  the  envelope  she  proffered  him,  gratefully,  won- 
dering whether  it  contained  ten  florins  or  twenty-five. 

"  And  I  should  like  to  say,  Gerard,"  subjoined  the  Freule  in  a 
flutter,  "that  I  highly  approve  of  your  conduct  in  going,  and 
also  of  your  fighting  the  German.  He  was  insufferable.  Heph- 
zibah  has  told  nobody  but  me." 

"  Hephzibah,"  said  the  Freule,  in  her  own  room.  "In  my 
youth  I  could  have  married  a  Prussian.  We  met  him  at 
Schlangenbad.     But  I  loved  my  country." 

Gerard,  opening  his  envelope,  extracted  a  bank-note  for  one 
thousand  florins. 


THE    GREAT    PEACE  259 

When  the  younger  son  had  sailed  away,  with  his  strange  new 
uniform,  to  the  land  of  falling  cocoanuts  and  cannon-balls,  the 
waves  of  emotion  at  the  Manor-house  settled  down  into  a  dis- 
agreeable ground-swell.  Otto  had  made  up  his  mind  to  "for- 
give and  forget,"  a  combination  foredoomed  to  failure  ;  Ursula 
walked  straight  on  by  her  husband's  side,  with  a  gloved  hand 
in  his.  It  was  useless  to  talk  about  forgetting.  She  would 
never  do  that.  Not  as  long  as  a  proud  woman's  heart  beat  under 
her  wifely  bosom.  With  scrupulous  tenderness  she  smoothed 
the  daily  deepening  furrows  upon  the  Baron's  careworn  brow. 

And  the  months  passed  on,  exceedingly  like  each  other,  ex- 
cepting that  Baron  Otto  made  himself  fresh  enemies  with  everv 
fresh  act  of  justice.  He  was  stern,  and,  necessarily,  stingy.  It 
was  true  that  his  honest  impulse  to  discuss  his  suspicions  with 
Ursula's  father  had  cost  him  the  last  friend  he  possessed  in 
Horstwyk.  He  clung  the  more  tenaciously  to  his  life's  object. 
And  he  idolized  his  child. 

On  this  point,  at  least,  there  could  be  sympathy  between  hus- 
band and  wife.  Little  Otto  was  querulous  over  his  infantine 
troubles.  He  disliked  teething,  and  going  to  sleep,  and  cold 
water,  and  hot  water,  and  eczema.  He  did  not  take  kindly  to 
existence.  It  is  that  class  of  children  which,  universally  for- 
saken, hang  on,  by  the  nails,  to  their  parents'  hearts.  There 
was  no  danger  of  Ursula's  heart  becoming  atrophied.  In  one 
thing  she  did  not  obey  her  husband  ;  she  slipped  in  and  out 
among  the  poor  a  great  deal  more  than  Otto  knew. 

But,  having  no  money,  she  came  with  empty  hands,  and  her 
visits  were  rarely  appreciated,  except  by  the  purely  imaginary 
poor  person,  who  thought  a  glimpse  of  her  bonnie  face  better 
than  a  sixpence  any  day. 

Winter  was  coming  round  again  when  Otto  one  morning  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  a  person  who  signed  herself  '*  Adeline 
Skiff."  The  person  spoke  of  great  wrongs  she  had  suffered 
from  Gerard,  of  present  distress,  and  of  possible  assistance. 
Otto  had  never  heard  of  Adeline  Skiff,  but  with  his  usual 
thoroughness  he  took  the  next  train  to  Drum,  and  unexpectedly 
called  upon  the  lady.  He  knew  her  again  when  he  saw  her,  al- 
though she  was  very  much  changed. 


260  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Adeline  lived  in  a  blind  alley,  among  odds  and  ends.  She 
was  the  only  inhabitant  who  wore  a  fringe,  and  this  fact  afford- 
ed her  daily  satisfaction.  Otherwise,  her  reputation  was  dubi- 
ous, and  her  slovenliness  undoubted. 

She  received  the  Baron  in  a  small  front  room,  filled  by  a  sew- 
ing-machine and  two  children.  She  hastened  to  explain  that 
her  husband,  who  was  not  over-kind  to  her,  had  lost  his  last 
place  in  a  lawyer's  office  on  account  of  his  stubborn  integrity ; 
she  got  a  little  dress-making,  not  much ;  she  had  hoped  that 
Mynheer  the  Baron  might  be  moved  to  do  something  for  her  or 
her  children.  She  pushed  forward  two  dirty-faced  boys  ;  Otto 
started,  involuntarily,  at  sight  of  the  elder.  Adeline  smiled 
knowingly. 

"  1  cannot  verify  your  story,"  said  Otto. 

Adeline  looked  up  quickly.  "  Can't  you,  really,  Mynheer 
the  Baron  ?"  she  retorted. 

"  And  my  brother,  did  he  not  give  you  money  ?" 

"Yes,  he  gave  me  three  thousand  florins,"  replied  Adeline, 
frankly,  "  and  my  husband  spent  them." 

*'  I  cannot  help  that,"  said  Otto. 

No,  he  was  not  willing  to  assist  her.  She  appealed  but  little 
to  his  sympathy. 

He  could  not  believe  she  belonged  to  the  "  deserving  poor," 
and  he  told  her  so.  How  had  she  got  hold  of  her  worthless 
husband  ? 

"  By  advertisement,"  replied  Adeline,  offended.  "  The  same 
way  your  worthy  lady  tried  to  get  hers." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    You  are  insolent,"  said  Otto,  haughtily. 

"  Oh,  of  course.  Mynheer  the  Baron ;  poor  people  always  are 
when  they  speak  the  truth.  But  when  the  Baroness  was  adver- 
tising for  a  husband  she  couldn't  be  sure  that  she'd  get  such  a 
good  one  as  you." 

"  K  you  mean  anything  except  insult,"  said  Otto,  frowning, 
"  tell  me  the  truth,  and  I  will  pay  you." 

Whereupon  Adeline  told,  with  slight  embellishment.  Ursula 
had  answered  advertisements,  Gerard's  among  the  number. 
She  had  "  wanted  "  a  husband.  So,  of  course,  she  had  accept- 
ed Otto's  proffered  hand. 


THE    GREAT    PEACE  261 

"  A  mesalliance  is  a  mistake,  after  all.  There  is  something  in 
blood,"  thought  Otto,  in  the  train.  He  went  home  quite  quietly. 
But  that  evening,  to  Ursula's  wonderment,  he  dropped,  for  the 
first  time,  his  good-night  kiss. 

That  year's  winter  opened  dully.  Otto  had  let  the  shooting ; 
it  was  a  sacrifice  of  which  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 
No  one  came  to  the  house  in  the  absence  of  battues.  Gerard 
wrote  home  regular  letters  to  his  mother,  bright  letters,  but  the 
Baroness,  bored  to  death,  was  growing  somnolent  and  slow. 

Bad  accounts  of  Gerard — mostly  false — occasionally  reached 
the  Manor-house.  People  said  he  was  exceedingly  wild  and 
devil-may-care.  Humor  told,  moreover,  that  he  had  got  him- 
self entangled,  on  the  journey  out,  with  the  governess  of  an 
English  family. 

"  Thank  God,  we  have  the  boy,"  said  Otto. 

One  evening,  late  in  October,  the  fatlier  came  into  the 
nursery,  where  Ursula  was  trying  to  make  "  Ottochen  "  balance 
himself  against  a  chair. 

"  Ursula,"  began  the  Baron,  hurriedly,  *'  where  have  you 
been  this  afternoon  ?" 

Ursula  slowly  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  excited  face. 

"  At  the  '  Hemel,'  "  she  said,  firmly.  "  Yrouw  Zaniksen  was 
ill  again.  And  her  baby,  too.  They  were  absolutely  destitute. 
So  I  went." 

"  The  baby  is  dead,"  burst  out  Otto.  "  It  is  a  case  of  malig- 
nant diphtheria.  I  met  the  doctor  just  now.  He  warned  me." 
The  father  sprang  forward,  placing  himself  between  wife  and 
child.  "  Leave  the  room !"  he  cried.  "  Don't  come  back  to- 
day. Leave  the  child  to  me  !"  He  caught  the  boy  so  violently 
to  his  breast  that  Ottochen  began  to  cry.  Ursula  hurried 
away,  unresisting,  with  that  wail  in  her  ears. 

A  few  hours  later,  when  they  were  alone  together,  she  said, 
very  meekly,  "  Forgive  me,  Otto." 

He  looked  up  wearily. 

"  I  forgive  you  this,"  he  answered.  Then,  with  an  effort  as 
of  one  who  breaks  through  a  hedge,  "But  not,"  he  added, 
"  the  having  married  me  when  you  did  not  love  me." 


262  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

She  was  a  very  proud  woman,  yet  in  tins  moment  of  his 
misery  she  knelt  down  by  his  side.  "  Dear  husband,"  she  said, 
"  if  I  wronged  you  it  was  in  innocence.  How,  except  by  loving, 
can  a  woman's  heart  learn  love  ?" 

Otto  sighed,  crushing  down  the  accusation  that  she  had 
learned  the  lesson  since,  but  from  another  teacher. 

"  Ursula,"  he  said,  "  there  is  a  foreboding  in  my  heart  to- 
night of  coming  trouble.  God  grant  it  prove  only  a  foolish 
fancy.  But,  if  not,  then  let  us  at  least  lighten  each  other's 
load.  Ursula,  look  into  my  eyes.  Tell  me,  dearest,  that  it  is 
not  true,  this  story  of  your  hunting  for  a  husband,  of  your  mar- 
rying me  because  others  had  drawn  back  !" 

"It  is  not  true,"  she  said,  bitterly,  still  kneeling,  but  with 
scornfully  averted  glance. 

"  Tell  me  it  is  not  true  that  you  have  ever  loved  any  one  else." 

This  time  she  faced  him  fully.  "  It  is  not  true,"  she  re- 
peated. 

"  Ursula,  God  knows  I  have  never  wronged  you  by  a  word." 

"  I  have  never  wronged  you  by  a  thought,"  she  answered, 
rising  to  her  feet,  and  he  felt  that,  whatever  time  might  alter, 
one  shadow  must  remain. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "  I  have  loved  you  from  the  first.  I 
shall  always  love  you  through  all  my  weakness  and  all  my 
wrong." 

She  put  her  arm  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

Twice  during  the  night  Ursula  slipped  away  from  her  room 
to  listen  at  the  nursery  door.  She  crept  back  gratefully  amid 
the  perfect  silence.  The  slight  irritation  in  her  own  throat  was 
what  people  always  feel,  she  told  herself,  at  the  bare  mention  of 
diphtheria.     Yet  all  next  day  she  kept  away  from  little  Otto. 

She  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  when  her  husband  came  in  to 
her,  with  a  white  scare  on  his  bronzed  face. 

"  The  child  is  not  well,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "  I  have  sent  for 
the  doctor." 

Ursula  started  up.  "Oh,  Otto,"  she  cried,  "is  it  the  throat?" 
Otto  nodded.  "  Then  I  can  go  to  him,"  she  said,  "  now,"  and 
ran  from  the  room. 


THE    GREAT    PEACE  263 

The  white  spots  were  there ;  she  saw  them  despite  the  little 
creature's  struggles,  and  her  heart  sank.  But  she  also  had  a 
few  white  spots.     There  was  so  much  false  diphtheria. 

The  doctor,  however,  looked  grave,  and  muttered,  "Angina 
pellicularis."  He  was  angry  with  Ursula.  "  I  shall  stay,"  he 
said,  and  she  cowered  down  by  the  little  bed. 

Then  followed  an  evening  of  unbroken  anxiety.  The  child 
grew  rapidly  worse,  and  the  parents  could  do  nothing  but  watch 
its  gaspings.  Towards  midnight  the  doctor  performed  the  hor- 
rible, unavoidable  operation  which  gave  it  a  little  more  air. 

In  the  lull  of  suspense  Ursula's  gaze  fell  upon  Otto.  "  And 
you  !"  she  said,  suddenly,  ''  you  are  ill !     You,  too  !     Doctor !" 

Otto  sank  back  in  responsive  collapse. 

"  It's  no  use  holding  out  any  longer,"  he  panted.  "  Doctor, 
I'm  afraid  there's  something  wrong  with  me  too." 

"  Let  me  look  at  yoUr  throat,"  said  the  Doctor,  harshly. 
"  Here's  a  pretty  bit  of  business,"  he  added,  turning  to  Ur- 
sula. 

Very  shortly  after  there  were  two  sick-rooms  ©pening  out 
of  each  other,  and  the  whole  household  trod  softly  under  the 
near  terror  of  Death.  All  through  the  silent  morning  Ursula 
passed  from  bed  to  bed,  her  own  pain  gone,  feeling  nothing 
but  the  dull  agony  of  useless  nursing.  Hephzibah  had  quietly 
installed  herself  as  an  assistant.  The  child's  usual  attendant 
was  too  full  of  personal  alarm.  Tante  Louisa  came  to  the 
door  with  persistent  whisper.  Miss  Mopius  left  a  bottle  of 
fluid  electricity  and  ten  globules  of  Symjoathetico  Loh. 

The  doctor,  who  had  been  away  for  his  rounds,  came  back 
in  the  afternoon  and  inserted  a  tube  in  the  father's  throat 
also.  Ursula  did  not  dare  to  question  his  solemnly  sullen 
face. 

One  thought  seemed  chiefly  to  occupy  Otto  as  he  lay  chok- 
ing. He  had  written  on  a  piece  of  paper  —  finding  no  rest  till 
they  gave  it  to  him — the  following  words  :  "  I  must  die  before 
the  child.  Tell  the  doctor  to  make  him  live  so  long.  Or  kill 
me.  Never  Gerard,  Ursula.  Never,  never.  You  first.  For 
another  Helmont !" 

She  had  read  the  message  in  her  deep  distress,  and  under- 


264  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

stood  it.  Dutch  law  no  longer  admits  entail.  If  Otto  died 
childless,  his  mother  and  brother  were  his  legal  heirs.  But  Ur- 
sula would  be  heir  to  h^iv  fatherless  son. 

She  clasped  her  husband's  hand  in  response  to  the  hunger  of 
his  eyes,  and  when  the  doctor  came  she  put  the  question  which 
was  straining  through  them. 

"  Doctor,  he  wants  me  to  ask  it.  If — if  this  were  to  be  fatal " 
— she  went  on  bravely — "which  do  you  think — first?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?"  replied  Dr.  Lapperpap,  roughly.  "  Pray 
to  God  for  both.     Both  of  them  need  your  prayers." 

Once  again  Otto  signified  his  wish  to  write,  in  the  short-lived 
winter  day. 

"  Never  Gerard,"  he  scrawled.  "  You  will  help.  By  every 
means.     Only  not  Gerard.     Promise." 

She  bowed  her  head,  but  he  pressed  his  finger  on  the  final 
word.  In  his  dying  eyes  there  was  a  passion  of  eagerness  she 
could  not  resist.     Promise  !  promise  ! 

*'  I  promise,"  she  said.     And  it  grew  slowly  dark. 

Presently  Ursula  came  through  the  intervening  door  into  the 
nursery.     Hephzibah  looked  up. 

"Mevrouw,"  she  said,  "it's  no  use  trying  to  deceive  you. 
The  baby  is  dying.  It  can't  last  many  minutes.  It's  the 
Lord's  doing.     Blessed  be  the  terrible  name  of  the  Lord !" 

Ursula  knelt  down  and  calmly  kissed  the  little  congested 
forehead.  What  did  the  danger  matter?  Perhaps  she  was 
courting  death. 

Then  she  went  back  to  her  husband,  and  gazed  deeply  upon 
his  terrible  struggle.  She  could  do  nothing  to  help  him.  But 
she  felt  that  this  agony,  also,  was  approaching  its  end. 

Hephzibah  knocked  gently.  "  Mevrouw,"  she  whispered, 
"  Mevrouw,  it  is  over.     The  poor  little  thing  is  at  rest." 

Some  moments  elapsed  before  Ursula  appeared.  Then  her 
face  stood  out,  in  the  dusk,  hard  and  set. 

"  Go  down-stairs,"  she  said.  "  Go  away,  and  leave  me  alone 
with  my  dead."  She  pushed  forth  the  waiting-woman,  and 
locked  the  nursery  door  behind  her.  For  a  moment  she  waited 
by  the  cot ;  then  she  returned  to  the  inner  room.     It  was  now 


THE    GREAT    PEACE  265 

quite  dark.  A  quick  shuffling  made  itself  heard  in  the  passage. 
Somebody  tried  the  lock.     Ursula  took  no  notice. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  opened  the  door  and  passed  out  into 
the  hall.  An  oil-lamp  was  burning  there.  She  shaded  her 
eyes  from  its  glare. 

On  the  staircase  she  met  Aunt  Louisa.  "Come  into  the 
dining-room,  aunt,"  she  said.  "There  is  something  I  must  tell 
you."  She  sank  down  on  the  nearest  chair,  by  the  glitter  of 
the  untouched  dinner-table.  "  Dearest  Aunt  Louisa,"  she  said, 
"  you  mustn't  mind  too  much.  God  has  taken  Otto  to  Himself. 
And — and  He  has  taken  baby  also." 

Aunt  Louisa  began  to  cry. 

"Don't  cry,"  said  Ursula,  almost  impatiently;  "/don't  cry." 

"  Otto  and  baby  !"  sobbed  the  Freule — "  oh,  Ursula,  Otto  and 
baby  !" 

"  Yes,  doesn't  it  seem  strange  ?"  said  Ursula,  staring  in  front 
of  her. 

After  a  moment's  pause  she  added,  "  Aunt  Louisa,  somebody 
must  go  at  once,  I  suppose,  for  the  doctor,  and  also  for  the 
notary.     Mustn't  they  ?"     She  went  across  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Anton,"  she  said,  "  two  messengers  must  be  off  instantly, 
one  to  the  doctor,  one  to  the  notary.  No  time  must  be  lost. 
Anton,  your  master  is  dead.     And  the  Jonker  is  dead  also." 

The  man's  face  grew  white,  and  his  eyes  overflowed.  Ursula 
turned  hastily  away. 

The  notary  was  the  first  to  arrive.  The  widow  received  him 
alone.  After  the  usual  preliminaries  of  condolence  he  told  her 
that  Otto  had  left  no  will. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  the  notary,  "  for  he  talked  the  matter 
over  with  me.  Before  the  child's  birth  he  was  anxious  to  dis- 
inherit the  old  Baroness,  his  mother.  When  I  told  him  that 
this  would  be  quite  impossible,  he  said  there  was  no  use  in  his 
making  a  will." 

"  The  Baroness  has  no  claim  on  the  property  now,"  said  Ur- 
sula. "  She  is  very  nearly  childish,  as  you  are  aware."  The 
Baroness  would  mean  Gerard. 

"  If  Mynheer  the  Baron  died  after  your  little  boy,"  said  the 


266  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

notary,  as  gently  as  he  could,  "  then  his  mother  and  brother  are 
his  heirs.  But,  Mevrouw,  if  the  Baron  died  first,  then  your  lit- 
tle boy  inherited  the  property  at  that  moment,  and  you,  being  a 
widow,  are  the  only  person  entitled  to  any  estate  left  by  your 
child." 

'*  My  husband  died  first,"  said  Ursula. 

Notary  Noks  rose  in  his  agitation.  "  Then,  madame,"  he 
said,  "you  are  the  owner  of  the  Manor-house.  Henceforth 
you  are  the  Lady  of  Horstwyk  and  the  Horst." 

Ursula  looked  into  the  lawyer's  face.  "  It  is  an  inheritance 
of  debt,"  she  said. 


part  nil  1[,— CHAPTER  XXXIII 

INTRIGUE 

"Ursula  van  Helmont  is  better,"  announced  Willie,  daw- 
dling into  his  wife's  boudoir;  "they  say  she  will  live." 

Helena  glanced  up  from  her  book,  not  without  a  slight  shade 
of  impatience. 

"Who  told  you?"  she  asked.  "Will  you  have  some  tea? 
It's  quite  cold." 

"  Much  obliged.  Oh,  everybody  told  me — they  were  talking 
it  over  at  the  Club." 

"  And  supposing  she  had  died,"  continued  Helena,  carelessly, 
"  of  this  diphtheria  or  brain  fever,  or  whatever  she  had,  then  I 
suppose  Domine  Rovers  would  have  reigned  at  the  Horst?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  replied  Willie,  eating  a  great  hunch  of  plum- 
cake  ;  "  but  you  mustn't  ask  me,  because  I  don't  understand. 
However,  it's  so  idiotic  that  I  dare  say  it's  law." 

Helena  smiled. 

"Really,  W^illie,"  she  said,  "you  are  growing  quite  intelli- 
gent." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  me,"  confessed  honest  Willie.  "  Everybody 
was  saying  it." 

A  tinge  of  disappointment  stole  over  Helena's  mobile  face. 

"And  doesn't  it  seem  utterly  ridiculous  and  unjust  that  if 
Ursula  Rovers  marries  again  all  the  Helmont  property  will  go 
to  that  Smith  or  Jones,  or  whatever  his  name  may  be  ?  It's 
shamefully  hard  on  Gerard." 

"  Of  course  Ursula  will  marry  again,"  said  Helena.  "  People 
who  have  been  married  like  that  always  do." 

"  Like  what  ?" 

"  Willie,  you  are  insufferable.     Surely,  *  le  secret  d'ennuyer. 


268  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

c'est  de  tout  demander.'  Like  that.  Neither  happily  nor  un- 
happily. They  have  had  a  glimpse  of  possibilities.  It  is  like 
gambling  without  a  decisive  turn  of  luck  either  way ;  one  goes 
on.     /  should  marry  again." 

"  If  I  give  you  a  chance,"  grinned  Willie,  who  understood 
that. 

"  Which  you  are  not  gallant  enough  to  do.  Unless  you 
seriously  object,  Willie,  I  should  like  to  go  on  with  my 
book." 

He  walked  across  and  took  it  out  of  her  hand. 

"  La  Terre  /"  he  said.  "  Really,  Nellie,  your  tastes  are  cath- 
olic." 

"  Have  you  read  it  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  faint  blush. 

"  Yes.  Somebody  told  me  it  was  Zola's  dirtiest,  so  I  looked 
at  it  once  in  a  way." 

"  Ah,  there,  you  see,  lies  the  difference.  You  read  it  for  the 
dirt.  Yes,  undeniably,  Zola  is  dirty,  but  he  is  not  immoral. 
However,  I  think  he  is  dull.  He  photographs  caricatures,  and 
that  is  in  itself  absurd.  One  photographs  realities ;  caricatures 
should  be  drawn.  No,  I  am  not  speaking  to  you,  W^illie ;  I  am 
speaking  to  somebody  as  an  audience :  one  has  to  sometimes. 
I'll  throw  away  this  book,  if  you  like."  She  looked  up  at  her 
husband  almost  entreatingly. 

Willie  hesitated,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  said.     "After  all,  it's  your  business,  not  mine." 

"  All  right.     Don't  eat  too  much  cake." 

Helena  returned  to  her  volume,  but  not  to  her  reading.  Between 
her  eyes  and  the  printed  page  there  settled,  immovable,  a  vision 
of  a  handsome,  animated,  angry  face,  and  once  more  she  saw  a 
blue-paper  novel  flying  into  a  corner  of  the  room.  "  No  man 
that  really  loves  a  woman  would  like  to  think  of  her  as  reading 
such  a  book  as  that." 

She  turned  away,  on  her  couch,  and  stared  hard  at  the  pink- 
embroidered  rosebuds  on  the  wall. 

"  What !  Crying  ?"  exclaimed  Willie,  in  great  distress,  com- 
ing round  from  the  window.  "Why,  Nellie,  what's  the  matter? 
Is  your  toothache  bad  again  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  bad,"  she  sobbed,  breaking  down.    "  Do  go,  Willie, 


INTRIGUE  269 

and  send  me  Mademoiselle  Papotier  with  the  little  bottle  of  laud- 
anum." 

Mademoiselle  Papotier  had  remained  at  the  Van  Trossarts', 
but  she  frequently  came  to  spend  a  few  days  with  Helena.  She 
now  duly  appeared,  summoned  by  loud  cries  from  her  host. 

"Papotier,"  said  Helena,  thoughtfully,  "if  ever  I  have  a 
daughter,  I  shall  not  educate  her  as  you  educated  me." 

"  That  is  a  reproach,  my  dear,"  replied  the  French  governess, 
serenely,  knitting  on  steadily  with  mittened  hands. 

"No,  it  is  a  compliment.  You  developed  the  heart.  You 
did  right.     But  I  should  kill  it." 

"  My  child,  I  could  not  have  killed  your  heart ;  it  was  too 
large."  The  little  old  doll  laid  down  her  work,  to  gaze  affec- 
tionately at  her  former  pupil. 

"  Why  has  God  sold  us  to  men  that  we  must  live  with 
them  ?"  cried  Helena,  passionately.  "  He  should  have  given  us 
to  angels  or  to  brutes.  We  could  have  been  happy  with  either 
of  those." 

"  Fi,  done,  ma  cherie,"  said  Mademoiselle.  "  The  good  God 
knows  his  business  better  than  you." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Papotier,  you  are  an  orthodox  Christian.  You 
enjoy  all  the  consolations  of  religion  and  neglect  all  its  duties. 
It  is  a  very  advantageous  arrangement  to  be  an  orthodox  Chris- 
tian." 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  Frenchwoman,  with  a  quick  gleam  of 
malice.  "  For  we  Christians,  although  we  do  wrong  like  other 
people,  at  least  occasionally  have  the  grace  to  leave  off."  She 
dropped  her  eyelids,  and  her  needles  clicked. 

"  Yes,  when  you  are  tired  of  it,"  retorted  Helena,  who  per- 
fectly understood  the  allusion  to  her  penchant  for  her  cousin. 
"  And  then  your  priest  gives  you  absolution.  I  would  not  buy 
off  the  flames  of  hell  at  the  rate  of  a  florin  per  fagot."  She 
paused,  meditatively.  "  And  feel  them  burning  just  the  same," 
she  added.  Then  she  laughed.  "  Papot,"  she  said,  "  you  do 
not  know  that  I  have  got  a  new  admirer  ?  No,  I  do  not  mean 
Willie,  though  he  certainly  is  more  considerate  than  he  used  to 
be.  My  admirer  is  old,  and  fat,  and  yellow;  his  name  is  Mo- 
pius,  and  he  is  uncle  to  the  Queen  of  the  Horst.     I  met  him 


2*70  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

there  the  Christmas  before  last.  Him  and  his  —  charming 
young  wife." 

"  Yes  ?"  assented  Mademoiselle,  listlessly.  "  My  dear,  you 
have  many  admirers.  Fortunately  they  are  platonic"  —  she 
sighed  a  little  sigh — "  as  were  mine." 

"  This  one  is  obstreperous,"  persisted  Helena,  glancing  at  the 
clock.  "  He  presented  me  with  a  big  bouquet  last  night  at  the 
Casino  ball,  making  a  fool  of  me  before  everybody.  And  he 
asked  permission  to  call  without  his  wife.  Such  things  should 
be  done  without  asking.     I  am  expecting  him  even  now." 

"  My  dear,  what  will  you  do  with  him  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Be  revenged  on  him,  some  time,  for  last 
night's  Jocrissiade^ 

Mevrouw  van  Troyen  shut  down  her  teapot  with  a  vigorous 
snap. 

"  There  he  is,"  she  said,  as  the  bell  rang. 

"  My  dear,  your  tea  is  not  drinkable." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?     Is  it  not  for  an  admirer  ?" 

Mynheer  Mopius  entered,  looking  as  smart  as  a  blue-speckled 
yellow  waistcoat  could  make  him.  His  thin  hair  was  observa- 
bly neat ;  he  bowed  off  the  retreating  Papotier  with  a  grace 
which  bespoke  his  familiarity  with  the  saloons  of  the  aristoc- 
racy. 

"  I  am  come,  Mevrouw,"  he  said  to  the  mistress  of  the  man- 
sion, "  to  express  my  condolence.  I  assure  you  T  felt  for  you 
last  night." 

"  Really  ?  You  surprise  me,"  said  Helena,  meaningly.  "  Cer- 
tainly, I  deserved  your  pity.  And  every  one  else's.  But  these 
mixed  entertainments  are  always  a  bore." 

"I  was  alluding,"  replied  Mynheer  Mopius,  solemnly,  "to 
the  tragic  death  of  our  cousin  Otto." 

"  Oh,  were  you  ?  But  that's  several  weeks  ago.  I  don't 
think  I  can  claim  much  sympathy  on  account  of  the  death  of 
my  cousins.  Please  don't.  Mynheer  Mopius.  Besides,  he  was 
your  nephew — wasn't  he  ? — so  you  can  condole  with  yourself." 

"He  was."  Mynheer  Mopius  thoughtfully  stroked  his  hat. 
"  We  are  a — kind  of  connection,  Mevrouw." 

"  Ursula  and  you  ?    So  I  understood,"  retorted  Helena,  hastily. 


INTRIGUE  2VI 

"  I  hope  Mevrouw  Mopius  is  well  ?  It  was  very  kind  of  her  to 
send  me  those  flowers  last  night." 

"  How  delicate  !  How  high-bred  !"  reflected  Mopius.  "  Oh, 
Mevrouw,"  he  stammered,  "it  was  nothing.  The  merest 
trifle—" 

"  But  she  must  never  do  it,  or  anything  like  it,  again." 

Mynheer  Mopius  was  doubly  charmed.  Whenever  he  made 
a  fool  of  himself,  he  was  tempted  thereto  by  the  belief  that 
ladies  found  him  irresistible.  Some  few  men  develop  that 
fancy.  Surely,  in  Mynheer  Mopius's  case,  his  first  wife  was 
more  to  blame  than  he  himself. 

"The  unfading  roses  are  yours,"  he  said,  simpering  and 
bowing. 

"  Have  another  cup  of  tea,"  interrupted  Helena,  sharply. 

The  old  Indian,  as  we  know,  was  a  great  connoisseur;  he 
had  gulped  down  two  bowls  of  hot  water  already,  imagining 
that  it  would  not  be  proper  to  refuse.  He  meekly  accepted  a 
third,  but  its  tepid  unsavoriness  aroused  his  native  assumption. 

"  If  I  may  make  so  free,"  he  said,  "  I  should  like  to  ask 
where  you  get — ahem  ! — this,  Mevrouw  " — he  tapped  his  cup — 
"  and  what  you  pay  for  it  ?" 

"  Two  and  ninepence,  I  believe,"  replied  the  lady,  sweetly. 
"  If  you  wish,  I'll  ring  and  ask  the  cook.  I'm  glad  you  like  it. 
There's  plenty  more." 

"  Only  two  and  ninepence  !"  exclaimed  Mopius,  horror- 
stricken.  "That's  the  worst  of  it;  you  Europeans  fancy  you 
can  get  things  without  paying  for  them.  I  was  in  the  East 
myself  for  twenty  years  ;  /  know  what  good  tea  is — nobody  bet- 
ter. I  was  famous  for  my  tea  at  Batavia,  Mevrouw,  as  Mevrouw 
Steelenaar  told  me,  the  Viceroy's  wife.  '  Mynheer  Mopius,' 
she  said  to  me,  *  where  do  you  get  this  delicious  mixture  V 
But  I  wouldn't  tell  her.  However,  I'll  send  you  some.  Ton 
my  soul  I  shall.  You  shall  know  what  tea  is.  I'll  send  you  a 
pound  to-morrow.     I'll  send  you  ten  pounds." 

Helena  bent  forward  from  her  listless  couch  ;  a  lily  of  the  val- 
ley dropped  away  among  the  laces  of  her  gown,  and  Mynheer 
Mopius  caught  at  it  with  eager,  fat  fingers. 

"  Mynheer,  you  will  send  me  nothing,"  said  Helena,  gravely. 


272 


MY    LADY     NOBODY 


"  Did  I  not  make  my  meaning  plain  enough  just  now  ?'' 
Then,  not  wishing  to  go  too  far,  "  I  cannot  receive  pres- 
ents, thank  you."  And,  unconsciously,  the  twinkle  in  her 
angry  eyes  wandered  away  to  a  big  portrait  of  her  florid 
Willie. 

*'  Ah  !"  said  Mopius,  and  put  the  lily  in  his  button-hole.  He 
did  it  fondly,  lingeringly.  He  understood  that  young  hus- 
bands are  jealous,  however  unreasonably,  of  experienced,  intel- 
ligent men  of  the  world.  His  manner  exasperated  her.  "  I  am 
sorry,"  he  said,  flicking  the  flower.  "  I  should  have  been  only 
too  glad,  had  there  been  anything  I  could  have  done  for  Me- 
vrouw  van  Troyen." 

Mevrouw  van  Troyen  burst  out  laughing.  "  Really  ?"  she 
cried,  "  even  leaving  me  when  I  must  go  and  dress  for  dinner? 
Mynheer  van  Trossart  dines  with  us  to-night ;  he  is  going  to 
take  me  to  the  theatre."     She  rose. 

Mopius  rose  also,  but  hung  back.  "Ah,  the  Baron  van  Tros- 
sart," he  said.  "  Just  so  !  I  am  very  anxious  to  make  his  ac- 
quaintance. Some  day,  perhaps,  I  hope — "  He  hesitated,  look- 
ing wistfully  at  Helena. 

Suddenly  his  manner,  his  tone,  his  expression  explained  the 
whole  thing  to  her.  It  was  not  her  young  beauty  that  had  at- 
tracted this  poor  creature.  She  remembered  having  heard 
some  one  speak  of  the  town-councillor's  ambition.  There  was 
a  vacancy  in  Parliament — 

"  You  can  stay  and  meet  him  now,  if  you  like,"  she  said,  un- 
graciously, but  grasping  at  vengeance  swift  and  sure.  "Oh 
yes,  he  is  well  enough,  thanks ;  only  rather  worried  about  this 
approaching  election  for  Horstwyk.  They  can't  find,  I  am 
told,  a  desirable  candidate." 

She  paused  by  the  door.  One  look  at  Mopius's  face  was  suf- 
ficient. "  I  don't  take  much  interest  in  politics,"  she  continued; 
"  but,  of  course,  my  godfather  does.  He  has  so  much  influ- 
ence. And  he  tells  me  that  at  Horstwyk  they  want  a  moderate 
man,  one  that  would  go  down  with  many  of  the  Clericals — a 
Conservative,  in  fact.  Such  people  are  so  difficult  to  find  now- 
adays.    Everybody  is  extreme." 

"  But — but — excuse    me,"    stammered    Mopius.     "  One  mo- 


INTRIGUE  273 

ment,  I  beg.  I  bad  always  understood  that  the  Baron  van 
Trossart  was  a  Liberal — " 

"  A  Liberal  ?  Oh,  dear,  no.  He  would  be  a  Conservative  if 
there  were  any  Conservatives  left.  As  it  is,  he  would  never 
espouse  the  cause  of  an  extremist.  He  sympathizes  with  the 
Clericals  in  many  things.  And  now  I  must  really  go  up-stairs. 
1  will  send  my  husband  in  to  amuse  you.  Don't  talk  politics  to 
him,  Mynheer  Mopius.    He  knows  no  more  about  them  than  L"* 

Mynheer  Mopius,  left  alone,  wiped  his  blotchy,  perspiring 
forehead.  It  was  a  master-stroke  to  have  insinuated  himself 
thus  into  the  graces  of  this  great  lady  whom  he  had  been  lucky 
enough  to  meet  at  the  Horst.  He  felt  very  friendly  towards 
Ursula. 

"  Ah,  Jacobus,"  he  said  to  himself  in  the  glass,  "  you  will  be 
*  high  and  mighty '  f  yet."  And  he  smiled  at  the  vanity  of 
women. 

Willie  came  lounging  in  obediently,  and  carried  off  the  wor- 
shipful town-councillor  to  the  smoking-room. 

"A  fine  house.  Mynheer  van  Troyen,"  said  the  conciliatory 
Mopius.     "  Exceedingly  tasteful." 

"  Oh,  it's  well  enough,"  assented  loose-tongued  Willie.  "  But 
the  money's  my  wife's,  you  know.  And,  by  Jove !  don't  she 
keep  it  under  lock  and  key  !" 

Having  reached  the  tether  of  his  conversation,  the  young  of- 
ficer fell  a-yawning,  and  soon  suggested  a  little  quiet  ecarte. 

"  There's  half  an  hour  more,  at  least,"  he  said. 

Did  Mynheer  Mopius  know  the  game  ?  Yes,  Mynheer  Mopius 
had  played  it  twenty  years  ago  in  India.  Ah,  indeed ;  they 
play  for  high  stakes  there  !  W^illie  suggested  fifty  florins.  He 
played  better  than  Mynheer  Mopius.  Twenty  years  is  a  long 
time.  When  Baron  van  Trossart  joined  the  two  gentlemen, 
Mynheer  Mopius  had  lost  five  hundred  florins,  but  he  found 
himself  on  quite  familiar  terms  with  Willie,  and  in  the  same 

*  There  are  three  political  parties  in  the  Dutch  Parliament — the  Roman 
Catholics,  the  permanent  Liberal  majority  (who  are  aggressively  anti-relig- 
ious), and  a  small,  much-persecuted  Protestant  remnant.     All  issues  of  any 
interest  are  religious.     There  is  no  longer  a  Conservative  party, 
f  Title  of  Dutch  Members  of  Parliament. 
18 


274  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

room  with  Baron  van  Trossart.  He  bowed  pompously,  patron- 
izing the  man  who  had  just  plucked  him.  *'  His  wife  would 
have  accompanied  him,"  he  said,  "  but  that  interesting  circum- 
stances— "  and  he  smiled  knowingly  to  the  great  noble  before 
him,  on  whose  haughty  features  the  look  of  chronic  moroseness 
sat  so  well. 

A  little  preliminary  awkwardness  was  deepened  by  his  prais- 
ing, all  astray,  the  amiability  of  the  Baron's  "  charming  daugh- 
ter," but  presently  the  tide  flowed  swiftly  into  its  preconcert- 
ed channel,  Helena  herself  having  entered,  resplendent  with  a 
couple  of  diamond  stars,  to  direct  its  course. 

"  No,  Mynheer  van  Trossart,"  said  Mopius,  nervously  hurried, 
"  I  should  never  feel  in  sympathy  with  extremists.  What  we 
need  nowadays,  as  I  take  it,  is  moderation,  pacification — the  old 
Conservative  spirit,  in  fact." 

"  Ah,  yes,  ah  !"  said  the  Baron.  He  was  rather  interested  in 
Mopius,  having  heard  of  him  as  one  of  those  men  who  are  will- 
ing and  able  to  spend  money  in  a  good  cause,  if  thereby  they 
can  further  their  own.  "Just  the  person,  perhaps,  for  a  candi- 
date," he  said  to  himself. 

"  Only,"  continued  Mopius,  ingenuously,  "  such  people  are  so 
difficult  to  find.  Everybody  is  extreme,  and  that  frightens  off 
the  undecided  voters.  Now,  I  cannot  help  sympathizing  with 
the  Clericals  in  many  points.  We  have  wronged  them.  Un- 
doubtedly, we  have  wronged  them.  Eacb  man.  Mynheer  van 
Trossart,  ought  to  be  permitted  to  serve  God  in  his  own 
way." 

"Oh,  undoubtedly,"  said  the  Baron,  a  little  uneasily,  never- 
theless. 

"Personally,  for  instance,  I  take  a  great  interest  in  the  move- 
ment on  behalf  of  confessional  schools.  I  am  speaking,  of 
course,  of  private  initiative."  He  hesitated ;  Helena  nodded  en- 
couragement across  the  Baron's  meditative  study  of  his  cigar. 
"  I  would  go  even  a  little  further.  I  consider  that  some  well- 
proportioned  concessions —  The  development  of  Atheism, 
Mynheer  van  Trossart,  is  not  one  that  I  contemplate  with  satis- 
faction." 

The    Government   functionary    turned    in    dismay.     "  Why, 


I 


INTRIGUE  275 

Mynheer,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  had  been  quite  given  to  understand 
you  were  a  Liberal  ?" 

Helena's  voice  broke  the  ensuing  silence.  "  We  really  must 
go  in  to  dinner,  papa.  We  shall  be  late  for  the  theatre.  Good- 
bye, Mr.  Mopius  ;  ray  compliments  to  Mevrouw  !"  She  took 
the  Baron's  arm  and  drew  him  away.  "I  like  a  fat  fool,"  she 
said  on  the  stairs;  "your  lean  fool  is  only  half  a  fool.  He  can't 
look  the  part." 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

THE    NEW    LIFE 

Ursula  awoke  from  a  long  dream  of  suffering.  The  world 
was  very  dark  all  around  her,  and  she  strove  to  lie  still.  But 
even  while  she  did  so  she  knew  by  the  steady  pulse  once  more 
swelling  in  her  brain  that  the  endeavor  would  prove  fruitless. 
Alive  again,  she  must  live. 

Her  husband  and  her  child  were  dead.  It  was  she  who,  de- 
spising Otto's  fears  of  infection,  had  brought  death  into  the 
house.  Something  told  her  that  Otto,  had  he  survived,  would 
tacitly  have  laid  the  loss  of  the  child  at  her  door.  And  yet  it 
was  impossible  to  say  for  certain.  Death  changes  all  our  per- 
spectives. Ursula's  was  not  a  nature  to  sink  away  into  maudlin 
self-disparagement.  She  did  not  dash  the  tears  from  her  cheek, 
but  she  resolutely  lifted  her  head. 

Nothing,  however,  makes  us  so  tender  towards  those  who 
loved  us  as  the  thought  that  we  have  done  them  irreparable 
wrong.  When  Ursula  arose  from  her  sick-bed,  it  was  with  the 
firm  resolve  to  honor  her  husband's  memory  by  the  daily  sacri- 
fice of  her  whole  self  to  that  which,  but  for  her,  might  still 
have  been  his  own  life -task.  She  took  up  his  cross  exactly 
where  he  had  laid  it  down.  That  was  all  she  thought  of — 
neither  right  nor  wrong ;  neither  God's  providence  nor  her 
own  unfitness  —  only  to  do  exactly  as  Otto  would  have 
wished. 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  she  said,  sitting,  cold,  with  the 
blackness  of  her  mourning  about  her.  "  I  told  you  at  the  time. 
Notary,  exactly  how  it  was.  There  is  no  ready  money — not 
even  enough  to  pay  the  death  duties.  There  is  nothing  ex- 
cept mortgages,  the  interest  on  which  only  hard  work  can  meet." 


I.  s 


THE    NEW    LIFE  277 

"  You  will  have  to  sell  some  of  the  land,"  replied  the  lawyer, 
hopelessly.  "  You  had  better  sell  the  whole  place.  You  can't 
keep  it  up,  anyhow.  Not  that  present  prices  will  ever  pay  off 
the  mortgage." 

The  widow  remained  silent  for  a  moment ;  there  was  little  of 
the  "  nut-brown  "  color  left  in  the  stately  face  against  the  oaken 
chair.  *'  1  shall  never  sell  an  inch,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  Never, 
as  long  as  I  live." 

"  That  is  a  long  time,"  retorted  the  matter-of-fact  man  of 
business.  "  A  great  deal  may  happen  "  —  he  glanced  at  his 
beautiful,  beautified  client ;  "  meanwhile,  everything  of  value 
in  the  house  belongs,  I  understand,  to  the  Dowager  Bar- 
oness ?" 

"  It  does." 

"  The  Dowager  Baroness,  it  appears  to  me,  if  I  may  venture 
to  say  so,  is  lapsing  into  second  childhood." 

No  answer.  The  room  was  very  lofty  and  empty.  The  far 
stretch  of  naked  country  was  very  chill  and  bleak.  The  Notary 
got  up  to  go. 

"  If  I  were  you,"  he  said,  *'  I  should  rid  myself  of  the  whole 
thing.  I  should  decline  to  inherit.  It's  a  hopeless  thing  from 
the  outset.  Gerard  will  have  his  mother's  fortune  to  himself 
now,  some  day.  He  is  all  the  better  off  for  having  missed  the 
dead  weight  which  has  fallen  on  to  your  shoulders.  It  was  a 
narrow  squeak." 

She  came  up  to  him — quite  suddenly,  close.  "  You  think 
that,"  she  said,  with  thick  utterance.  "  You  understand  that. 
Always  remember  it.  Do  you  hear  ?"  A  clear  passion  had 
overflowed  the  dull  dark  of  her  eyes.  Violently  she  mas- 
tered the  trembling  which  shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  lady ;  it  is  evident.  Your  brother-in- 
law  could  hardly  have  sold  the  property  as  you  will.  Yes,  yes, 
as  you  will.  Never  mind ;  take  your  time.  It  is  an  experi- 
ment." 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it  is  not  an  experiment.     Good-day." 

Notary  Noks  considered  himself  a  very  shrewd  man.  He 
perfectly  comprehended  the  young  Baroness's  resolution  to  play 
the  fine  lady  as  long  as  she  was  able.    "  She's  been  dem  lucky," 


278  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

reflected  the  lawyer  as  lie  drove  away  ;  "  but  she'll  have  to  mar- 
ry again,  and  marry  money  if  she  wants  to  keep  on.  It's  a 
queer  end  of  the  Van  Helmonts."  He  had  known  the  pastor's 
girl  ever  since  she  was  a  baby  ;  his  opinion  of  the  proud,  pale 
woman  from  whom  he  had  just  come  away  was  distinctly  un- 
favorable. 

Ursula  passed  through  the  long,  gray  library,  and,  drawing  a 
curtain,  softly  entered  the  old  Baroness's  rose-garlanded  sanc- 
tum. 

Through  the  south  turret  window  the  sunlight  lay  in  an  am- 
ber bar.  And,  incased  in  the  clear  gold,  like  a  fly,  sat  the  lit- 
tle black  Dowager,  surrounded  by  her  papers,  writing  with  the 
serene  concentration  of  a  well-defined  literary  task.  She  looked 
up  across  her  glasses,  pen  in  hand. 

"  I  am  busy,"  she  said,  her  tone  full  of  mild  annoyance.  She 
was  always  busy,  the  more  so  when  Ursula  disturbed  her — end- 
lessly busy  with  the  "  Memoir,"  noting  down  the  same  trifles 
over  and  over  again. 

"  I  know,"  replied  Ursula,  meekly ;  "  but  I  thought  you  would 
like  to  have  this,  so  I  brought  it  you  out  of  the  hall." 

It  was  a  letter  from  Gerard,  away  in  Acheen,  the  first  response 
to  the  more  explicit  account  of  their  common  bereavement,  com- 
ing back  to  them  across  the  wide  void  of  five  months'  illness  and 
solitude. 

The  Dowager  tore  open  the  envelope.  Ursula  waited,  uncer- 
tain how  to  give  least  offence. 

"  There  is  a  message  for  you,"  said  the  Dowager  when  she  had 
finished  reading;  "but  I  shall  not  give  it  you.  It  is  an  absurd 
message.  It  is  an  absurd  letter  in  many  ways.  Poor  Gerard, 
his  sorrows  have  turned  his  brain.  Like  mine.  Like  mine. 
Like  mine." 

She  gathered  together  her  papers,  aimlessly,  scattering  them 
as  she  took  them  up. 

"  Stay  with  me,  Ursula,"  she  said,  querulously.  "I  have  no- 
body to  help  me  with  these  important  documents.  There  must  be 
a  letter  somewhere  dated  August  the  5th,  1854.  Or  is  it  April 
— April,  '45  ?    It  is  a  letter  from  a  friend  of  your  father-in-law ; 


THE    NEW    LIFE  279 

I  forget  his  name.  I  had  it  a  moment  ago.  Or  was  it  yester- 
day I  had  it  ?  I  was  reading  it  to  cook.  She  remembers  things. 
She  has  been  with  me  a  long  time.  She  remembers  my  dear 
husband  quite  well." 

"  I  will  look  for  it,"  said  Ursula,  taking  care  not  to  disturb 
Plush,  who  always  made  a  bed  for  herself  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  crackly  confusion  on  the  table.     "  Is  this  it?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  the  Baroness,  without  glancing  up  to 
verify  her  verdict.  "  You  don't  know,  Ursula.  You  are  a  new- 
comer. Cook  is  right,  though  I  told  her  some  things  are  best 
left  unsaid." 

She  went  on  folding  and  sorting,  muttering  to  herself  with  a 
quiet  little  lady-like  laugh. 

"Gerard  is  ridiculous,"  she  presently  broke  out,  with  angry 
energy.  "  He  says  he  would  have  had  to  sell  the  place  as  well 
as  you  must  now,  so  where's  the  difference  ?  He  is  a  fool.  He 
would  not  have  had  to  sell  it,  no  more  than  Otto.  Did  Otto 
want  to  sell  it,  Ursula  ?" 

She  sat  back  in  her  chair,  glowering  with  her  light  blue  eyes 
at  her  daughter-in-law.  ^ 

"  No,"  said  Ursula,  bending  low  over  the  writing-table. 

"  Aha !  I  thought  you  would  try  to  deceive  me.  I  forget  a 
good  many  things,  but  I  remember  this.  Do  you  hear  me, 
daughter-in-law  ?    I  have  never  loved  you  ;  I  had  little  reason  to." 

Her  voice  rose  shrill  with  quavery  passion  ;  she  tried  to 
steady  her  feeble  little  frame  with  blue-veined  hands  on  the 
massive  arms  of  her  chair. 

"  But  what  does  Gerard  mean  when  he  says — what  does  he 
say  ? — I  forget — he  says  I  must  be  kind  to  you.  What  does 
he  mean  ?  I  have  always  been  kind  to  you.  But  what  right 
had  you — better  have  plain  speaking — to  come  and  steal  away 
my  house  from  my  son  ?  Eh  ?"  She  started  to  her  feet ;  the 
dog,  disturbed  by  her  cry,  sprang  up,  barking  furiously.  "  What 
right?"  she  repeated.  "  It  is  Gerard's — I  told  him  so.  I  told 
him  to  come  and  take  it  away  from  you.  He  writes  back,  '  No.' 
He  is  a  coward — a  coward  as  they  all  are,  for  a  woman's  face." 

She  sank  back,  whispering  the  final  sentences,  and  began  to 
cry,  with  noiseless,  unrestrained  tears. 


280  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Dear  mamma,  we  will  not  sell  it,"  pleaded  Ursula,  though 
she  knew  how  uselessly.  *'  You  see,  Gerard  says  again  he  would 
have  done  so.  Let  us  be  glad,  then,  that  he  has  not  got  it  yet. 
Perhaps,  some  day,  when  he  thinks  differently — meanwhile — 
in — trust — " 

She  stopped,  not  daring,  nor  caring,  to  proceed.  But  the 
Dowager  had  only  caught  at  one  sentence. 

"  No,  we  will  not  sell  it,"  she  repeated :  "  no,  indeed.  At- 
tempt such  a  thing  and  I  appeal  to  the  police  !  You  sell  what 
belongs  to  another !  You  !  Listen,  Ursula.  I  am  not  as  strong 
as  I  was.  I  forget  things.  I  dare  say  you  imagine  I  am  grow- 
ing childish.  But  be  sure  of  this  :  that  however  stupid  I  may 
seem  to  become,  I  shall  always  know  about  the  Horst.  I  shall 
watch  over  it  for  Gerard.  I  have  written  to  him  to  come  back, 
and  he  will  come.  You  alter  nothing — do  you  understand? 
Nothing.  Oh,  my  God,  I  am  a  poor  defenceless  old  woman  ! 
Have  pity  upon  me,  and  make  my  head  keep  strong !  Oh,  if 
Theodore  had  only  not  died — not  died  !   Oh,  my  God,  my  God  !" 

She  shrank  together,  like  a  lace  shawl  thrown  aside,  and  the 
tears  trickled  down  among  the  trinkets  of  her  watch-chain. 

Ursula  rose  and  went  out  into  the  deserted  corridor.  From 
one  of  the  stands  by  the  distant  hall-door  a  brown-tinged  "  Ma- 
rechal  Niel"  fell  to  pieces  with  a  heavy  thud  on  the  marble 
pavement. 

"  Monk  !"  cried  the  mistress  of  the  mansion.     "  Monk  !" 

With  great  yelps  of  greeting  the  St.  Bernard  came  bounding 
towards  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
"MRS.  Gerard" 

Ever  since  Otto's  sudden  death  the  Freule  Louisa  had  felt 
stirred  to  practical  philanthropy.  Something  about  "  redeem- 
ing the  time"  had  got  wedged  in  one  of  her  ears.  With  her 
own  fair  hand  she  had  concocted  during  Ursula's  long  illness 
uneatable  messes  for  the  invalid,  and,  mindful  of  the  poor 
thing's  former  overtures  to  herself,  she  had  very  nearly  brought 
on  a  recurrence  of  delirium  by  insisting  on  reading  Carlyle's 
French  Revolution  at  the  bedside.  Routed  by  the  doctor, 
she  had  extended  her  uncertain  assistance  to  the  village ;  but 
her  efforts  were  much  hampered  by  the  steadfast  resolution 
that  neither  personally,  nor  through  the  medium  of  her  maid, 
would  she  incur  any  risk  of  infection.  When  the  turnpike- 
woman's  little  boy  went  up  to  the  Manor-house  for  a  promised 
bottle  of  wine  the  Freule  rolled  it  across  to  him,  her  smelling- 
bottle  held  tight  to  her  nostrils,  over  the  broad  slab  before  the 
open  door.  And  somehow  the  little  boy  was  awkward  or 
frightened,  and  the  bottle  rolled  away  down  the  steps  in  crim- 
son splashes  and  a  puddle.  All  the  village  heard  the  story 
with  a  burst  of  derisive  reproach.  "  Which  seeing  it  was  after 
confinement^''^  said  the  bottle-nosed  turnpike-man,  "  a  thing  about 
which  the  Freule  couldn't  be  expected  to  know." 

"  You  can  never  be  quite  sure  with  these  people,  Hephzi- 
bah,"  explained  Freule  Louisa,  anxiously.  "  There  is  always  a 
possibility  of  your  catching  something  they  haven't  got." 

'•  What  you  catch  soonest  is  what  you  can't  catch  after- 
wards," replied  Hephzibah,  who  meant  fleas.  Personally,  the 
handmaid  had  a  weakness  for  domiciliary  visits,  which  afforded 
her  an  agreeable  opportunity  of  telling  the  people  of  her  own 


282  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

class  —  lier  inferiors,  as  she  called  tli^m — how  entirely  tliey 
themselves  were  to  blame  for  any  misfortunes  they  might  hap- 
pen to  have  had. 

On  the  gusty  day  which  brought  Gerard's  letter  the  Freule, 
accompanied  by  her  faithful  attendant,  had  departed  to  the 
Parsonage.  Every  Wednesday  afternoon  through  the  silent 
winter  months  the  "ladies"  of  the  village  met  in  Josine's 
drawing-room,  and  sewed  innumerable  nondescript  garments 
for  tropical  converts  from  nudity  to  the  inspiring  strains  of 
long-drawn  letters  monotonous  with  sickness  and  privation. 
Of  this  little  Horstwyk  Society  the  Freule  from  the  Manor- 
house  was  Honorary  President.  It  had  taken  to  itself  the  ap- 
pellation "  Tryphena,  Rom.  xvi.  12,"  and  had  gloriously  fought 
and  conquered  the  opposition  "Tryphosa"  which  the  doctor's 
wife  had  rashly  started — without  Honorary  President,  but  with 
a  mission-field  that  could  boast  two  genuine  murders.  Some 
of  the  Tryphena  people  rather  regretted  the  annihilation  of 
Tryphosa.  It  had  formed  such  a  fruitful  theme  when  the  mis- 
sionary letters  gave  out. 

"  My  dear  Josine,  I  have  got  a  most  interesting  report,"  said 
the  Freule,  eagerly,  taking  off  her  heavy  boots  in  the  little  Par- 
sonage passage.  The  President  and  Secretary  hated  each  other 
like  poison.  "  The  man  at  Palempilibang  has  lost  two  more 
children  from  dysentery — isn't  it  dreadful  ? — and  his  wife  has 
been  so  very  bad  they  will  have  to  take  her  up  to  a  hill  station 
for  change  of  air." 

"I  cannot  understand  it,"  argued  Josine,  as  they  advanced  to 
join  the  others ;  "  I  packed  plenty  of  medicine  in  the  box  we 
sent  out  last  Christmas.  I  wrote  to  Leipsic  on  purpose  so  as 
to  make  sure  it  should  be  genuine.  And  with  me,  when  I  have 
symptoms,  Sympathetico — " 

"  My  dear,  I  should  not  imagine  it  of  any  use  i'n  actual  dis- 
ease," replied  the  Freule,  hurriedly  taking  refuge  from  her  own 
temerity  in  the  bosom  of  "  Tryphena." 

"  Ladies,  I  have  a  most  interesting  report  for  this  day's  meet- 
ing," she  began,  with  the  common  eagerness  to  promulgate  ca- 
lamity. "  I  shall  not  spoil  it  by  picking  out  the  best  bits  be- 
forehand, but  I  must  just  tell  you,  because  you  will  be  so  sorry 


"MRS.    GERARD.  283 

to  hear  it,  that  Jobson,  of  Palempilibang,  has  lost  two  of  his 
remaining  seven  children  from  dysentery,  and  his  wife  is  so  ex- 
ceedingly weak  the  doctor  says  she  cannot  remain  at  the  sta- 
tion. Isn't  it  very,  very  sad  ?  Ah,  Juffrouw  Pink,  I  am  glad  to 
see  your  cold  is  better." 

All  the  ladies  looked  at  cacli  other,  and  nodded  sympathet- 
ically. The  Freule's  news  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  an- 
cient order  of  things.  "  Out  yonder  "  was  very  far  away,  and 
people  always  died  there.  When  they  died  you  had  a  vague 
conception  that  you  were  getting  your  money's  worth.  Juf- 
frouw  Pink,  the  very  fat  wife  of  a  church-warden,  and  a  recent 
member,  sat  helplessly  entangling  the  fateful  disease,  in  her 
woolly  mind,  with  the  crime  of  Non  -  conformity.  Mevrouw 
Noks,  the  notary's  angular  consort,  laid  down  the  little  garment 
she  had  been  engaged  on. 

"  So  that  will  no  longer  be  necessary,"  she  said,  deliberately. 
Josine,  who  liked  to  be  noticeably  sentimental,  murmured, 
''  Fie !" 

Meanwhile,  Hephzibah,  in  the  kitchen,  was  overawing  the  lit- 
tle Parsonage  maid.  But  the  thing  was  easy,  soon  effected,  oft 
repeated,  and  she  yearned  for  bolder  game.  Presently  the 
drawing-room  bell  rang,  and  Hephzibah  rose,  aware  that  her 
weekly  deliverance  was  come. 

Every  Wednesday  afternoon  the  Freule  Louisa  would  check 
the  Secretary's  report-droning  to  remark,  "  My  dear  secretary, 
I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  me,  but  might  I  ring  just  one  moment 
for  my  maid  ?"  Somebody  would,  of  course,  hasten  to  comply 
with  the  noble  President's  request — the  interruption  was  far 
from  unwelcome  to  the  gossip  -  loving  community  —  and  the 
Freule  Louisa  would  compliment  herself  on  again  having  in- 
vented a  pretext  to  make  sure  of  Hephzibah's  obedience  to 
orders.  Practically,  the  pretexts  were  but  three :  a  handker- 
chief from  the  winter  mantle,  a  forgotten  letter  for  the  post, 
and  the  drying  of  the  Freule's  boots.  And  Hephzibah,  having 
made  her  cross-grained  appearance,  immediately  sallied  out  on 
errands  of  her  own.  For  the  Freule  never  rang  twice  —  lest 
she  should  make  the  discovery  she  dreaded. 

Hephzibah  was  not  afraid  of  dirt  or  disease.     Both  she  knew 


284  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

to  be  the  outcome  of  human  wickedness,  and  with  human  wick- 
edness Hephzibah  Botster  had  little  to  do.  She  feared  only- 
one  thing  in  this  world,  or  the  other  world,  the  Intangible — con- 
solidated and  incorporated  for  her  in  a  great  overshadowing 
conception — the  Devil.  Hephzibah  believed  overwhelmmgly  in 
the  Devil.  Her  existence  was  full  of  him.  And  therefore, 
strong-minded  saint  though  she  was,  she  did  not  like  to  find 
herself  alone  in  the  dark. 

As  a  rule,  she  spent  her  Wednesday  afternoons  with  Klomp, 
the  lazy  proprietor  of  the  tumble-down  cottage  in  Horstwyk 
wood.  Klomp  was  what  she  chose  to  call  *'  a  sort  of  a  distant 
connection  of  hers,"  he  being  disreputabJe,  and  a  cousin-german. 
This  disreputable  man  she  had,  however,  made  up  her  mind  to 
marry,  for  her  chances  were  infinitesimal,  and  she  felt  that  the 
tidying  him  up  would  be  a  glory  and  a  joy. 

As  she  now  went  zigzagging  along  the  road,  crooked  in  feature 
and  movement,  through  the  sloppy  haze  of  dull-brown  bareness, 
she  came  across  a  shy  urchin  who  was  gathering  forbidden 
firewood.  Him  she  immediately  accosted,  like  the  Bumble 
she  was. 

''  Do  you  know,  you  boy,  who  comes  for  children  that  steal  ?" 

"  Jesus,"  stammered  the  frightened  culprit,  giving  the  in- 
variable answer  of  all  Dutch  children  to  any  question  that 
savors  of  the  Sunday-school. 

»  The  Devil !  The  Devil !  The  Devil !"  reiterated  Hephzi- 
bah, with  impressive  vociferation.  "Do  you  understand  me? 
The  Devil."  She  attempted,  ignoring  physical  impossibilities, 
to  fix  both  her  eyes  in  pne  soul-searching  stare.  But  the  little 
boy  lifted  his  own  pale-blue  orbs  in  saucer-sized  reproach. 

"  It's  very  wrong  to  swear,"  he  said,  gravely. 

So  Hephzibah  continued  her  way,  for  "  Answer  not  a  fool," 
she  reflected,  "  according  to  his  folly."  She  saw,  through  the 
gaunt  glitter  of  the  trees,  Klomp's  half-detached  shutters  hang- 
ing forlorn.  She  wondered  who  had  opened  them  on  this  usu- 
ally deserted  side.  Certainly  not  Klomp.  She  smiled  grimly. 
She  would  put  things  to  rights,  as  was  her  custom,  and  scold 
him. 

She   heard  voices  inside    the  house,  an    unknown  woman's 


r 


"  MRS.    GERARD  "  285 

voice,  and  laughter — actually  laughter  from  Klomp,  whose  ut- 
most exertion  in  her  presence  hardly  attained  to  a  smile. 
She  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered,  indignant.  Some 
chipped  crockery  was  spread  over  the  crippled  table,  and  be- 
hind an  odorous  paraffine-stove  and  coffee-pot  sat  a  frowzy 
female  of  spurious  pretensions  to  elegance — a  female  with  whom 
Hephzibah  was  not  acquainted,  but  whose  name  was  Adeline 
Skiff.  The  virtuous  Abigail  immediately  wrote  down  the 
stranger  "  a  bad  lot,"  and  less  virtue  would  have  sufficed  thus 
correctly  to  apprise  her. 

"  Company  !  Dearie  me !"  cried  Hephzibah,  in  a  whole 
gamut  of  spinsterly  suspicion.  "And  where,  pray,  are  Pietje 
and  Mietje,  John  ?" 

Klomp  yawned. 

"  Wednesday,  is  it  ?"  he  said.  *'  So  much  the  worse."  After 
which  uncourteous  allusion  he  subsided. 

"Let  me  introduce  myself  to  the  lady,"  interposed  Adeline, 
all  mince  and  simper.  "I  am  a  cousin  of  Mynheer  Klomp's, 
and  I  have  come  to  stay  with  him  for  a  week  or  two." 

"  Cousin !"  repeated  Hephzibah,  in  a  tone  of  flat  denial.  She 
stalked  to  the  table,  and  sat  down  square.  "  Now,  John,  I'm 
a  distant  connection  of  yours,  and  I  know  all  about  your  family. 
And  what  cousin  may  you  be,  mum,  pray,  and  on  which  side  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  never  can  remember  those  genesises !"  cried  Adeline, 
with  a  charming  laugh,  as  she  hastened  to  arrange  her  fringe. 

"  Dirty  hands  !"  reflected  Hephzibah. 

"  My  name  is  Botster,"  she  said,  aloud,  "  and  one  thing  I 
know  for  certain,  madame,  that  you  never  were  a  cousin  of 
mine." 

Adeline  looked  suprised  at  this  open  aggression  ;  but  Adeline 
had  never  liked  disagreeables  of  any  kind. 

"  Have  some  coffee  ?"  she  asked.  "  There  is  a  little — a  little 
taste  from  the  coating  of  the  coffee-pot,  whatever  it  may  be,  that 
gives  quite  a  peculiar  flavor,  as  I  was  just  telling  Klomp." 

She  laughed  again,  and  the  sluggard  smiled  contentedly. 

"  Oh,  nobody  ever  rinses  it  out,"  he  said.  "  I  boiled  some 
ratsbane  in  it  the  other  day." 

Adeline  shrieked. 


286  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Of  course,  you  are  a  stickler  for  neatness,  Juffrouw — Juf- 
frouw  ?"  cried  Hephzibah,  furiously,  letting  one  of  her  eyes  travel 
down  the  soiled  ribbons  of  the  visitor's  tawdry  dress.  "  I  like 
people  to  be  tidy,  not  like  you,  Cousin  John.  Cleanliness  is  a 
great  virtue,  Juffrouw.  Perhaps  you  know  it  is  placed  next  to 
godliness." 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  is,"  replied  Adeline,  with  a  gesture  of  sudden 
malice — "  sitting  side  by  side." 

To  such  levity  Hephzibah  could  allow  no  recognition.  She 
was  burning  to  find  out  the  intruder's  name,  and,  after  some 
futile  strategy,  which  deepened  the  mystery,  she  boldly  de- 
manded it. 

"  Why,  Klomp,"  replied  Adeline — "  Klomp,  of  course.  Isn't 
it,  Cousin  John  ?"  She  winked  at  Hephzibah's  relation  im- 
pudently. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Hephzibah. 

"  Well,  if  it  isn't,  I'll  make  it  so.  Some  day,  perhaps,  I'll 
tell  you  more,  and  some  day,  perhaps,  I  sha'n't.  If  you  were 
going  to  have  a  new  white  dress,  what  color  would  you  have 
it  trimmed  ?" 

"  If  I,  or  any  other  decent  person  of  our  class,  were  going 
to  have  a  white  dress,  it  would  be  a  night-dress,"  retorted 
Hephzibah,  *'  and  she  wouldn't  have  it  trimmed  at  all." 

At  this  Adeline  giggled  and  Hephzibah  glared. 

"Any  one  can  see,"  said  Juffrouw  Skiff,  "  that  you're  a  thrifty 
body  and  don't  waste  your  money  on  personal  adornment. 
Married,  I  dare  say,  eh? — ah? — and  a  large  family  to  look 
after." 

Both  Klomp  and  Adeline  roared. 

"  I'm  maid  at  the  Manor-house,"  said  honest  Hephzibah, 
proudly  ;   "  own  maid  to  the  Freule  van  Borck." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  Adeline's  manner  had  grown  suddenly 
serious.  "  Now  that's  a  remarkable  coincidence.  I'm  very 
much  interested  in  your  Manor-house,  Juffrouw  Potster.  I 
know  your  people." 

"Really?"  replied  Hephzibah,  politely.  "I  don't  remember 
seeing  you  at  any  of  our  dinners.  Did  you  come  alone,  or  did 
you  bring  your  cousin  Klomp?" 


"MRS.    GERARD"  287 

This  time  Adeline  flushed  scarlet,  but  she  was  resolved  to 
avoid  a  quarrel  with  a  servant  from  the  Ilorst.  Deserted,  for 
the  time  at  least,  by  her  husband,  she  had  heard  of  Ursula's 
great  good-fortune,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  to  come  and 
find  out  some  means  of  extorting  money  from  the  Helmonts. 
Her  plan  of  campaign  was  as  yet  undetermined ;  meanwhile 
she  had  taken  the  cheapest  of  lodgings  with  Klomp,  who  was, 
of  course,  in  no  wise  a  relation.  "It  will  look  better  to  say 
we  are  connected,"  she  had  suggested,  intent  upon  "keeping 
dark  "  at  first.  "  You  can  have  the  room  for  ninepence,"  had 
been  Klomp's  only  reply.     "  No  attendance,  mind." 

She  now  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window,  with  a  glance 
at  her  reflection  against  the  greasy  pane.  "  There  are  your 
girls,  Klomp,"  she  said,  "  with  the  child.  The  poor  darling  can 
never  have  enough  of  that  dear  little  porker.  Hear  him  shriek 
with  delight.     Are  you  fond  of  children,  Juffrouw  Boster?" 

Klomp  sauntered  out  to  his  affectionate  Pietje  and  Mietje, 
now  strapping  young  women,  both.  Immediately  Ilephzibah 
came  up  behind  the  smiling  stranger  by  the  open  door.  She 
had  not  much  time  to  lose. 

"  Look  here,  you  !"  she  said,  hoarsely.  "  What  have  you 
come  here  for  ?  After  no  good,  I'll  be  bound.  But  you  leave 
this  man,  mind  you.  Cousin  or  no  cousin,  he's  my  man,  not 
yours."  She  was  desperate  at  the  thought  of  her  lessening  only 
chance. 

The  other  turned  tauntingly  in  the  doorway. 

"  Your  man  ?"  she  repeated.  "  What  d'ye  mean  ?  Can't  you 
take  a  joke,  you  fool  ?  You  don't  imagine,  do  you,  that  I  want 
to  marry  Klomp  ?" 

Ilephzibah  shivered  with  horror  and  spite.  Visions  of  King 
Solomon's  impudent-faced  fair  ones  rose  up  before  her.  "  Jeze- 
bel," she  said,  inconsistently,  but  with  commendable  candor. 

"  Tut,  tut !"  answered  Adeline,  looking  away.  "  Your  dress 
is  a  shocking  bad  fit.  I'll  alter  it  for  you.  I  had  no  idea  you 
came  here  courting,  Juffrouw  Boster — and  in  such  a  dress  as 
that !" 

Ilephzibah  longed  to  strike  the  woman,  but  she  only  stupidly 
repeated,  "What  did  you  come  for?"  amid  the  laughter  and 


288  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

cries  of  the  others  close  by.  Then  suddenly  she  stamped  her 
foot. 

"  Go  away,  or  I'll  make  you." 

"  You  !"  retorted  Adeline,  fairly  roused.  "  What  next,  you 
Poster  ?  Know  that  you  are  speaking  to  your  betters.  Imag- 
ine the  insolence  of  it !  I  and  Klomp  !  I !  The  insolence  of 
it !  Klomp  and  you  ;  yes,  that  is  another  matter.  Here,  Baby  ! 
Baby  !"  A  sudden  resolve  seemed  to  seize  upon  her.  Her  little 
boy  of  some  three  or  four  raw  summers  came  unwillingly  towards 
the  house,  diverted  from  his  course  by  continual  grabs  at  the 
porker's  wispy  tail.  "Do  you  see  this  child?"  asked  Adeline, 
catching  hold  of  a  faded  blue  mantle,  and  turning  up  a  pretty 
though  mealy  little  face.  "  This  is  my  child,  my  only  one." 
She  had  shrewdly  left  the  infant  at  Drum. 

Hcphzibah  started,  and  vainly  pretended  to  have  slipped. 
"Well?"  she  said. 

"  His  name  is  Gerard." 

Slowly  the  faithful  servant  lifted  her  crossed  eyes  to  the 
other's  better-favored  face.  "  Hussy  !"  she  said,  deliberately, 
with  all  an  honest  woman's  slow  pressure  on  the  term. 

Adeline  burned  with  the  immediate  umbrage  of  a  girl  who 
feels  her  ears  boxed.  At  a  leap  she  resolved  to  rejoice  in  the 
role  which  had  long  allured  her. 

"  Menial,"  she  said,  loftily,  "  know  your  place.  You  are  speak- 
ing to  Mevrouw  van  Ilelmont." 

"  Well,"  reflected  Hephzibah,  pausing  for  breath  on  her  hur- 
ried walk  back  to  the  Parsonage,  "  I  am  glad  that  I  told  her  she 
was  a  liar.     Still — " 

Queer  stories  about  the  Jonker  Gerard  had  been  rife  in  the 
servants'  hall.  The  domestics  of  the  Trossart  household  had 
added  their  occasional  items.  It  was  pretty  well  known  that 
Helena  would  have  married  her  cousin  but  for  some  sudden  im- 
pediment. Judging  by  appearances  and  gossip,  there  was  noth- 
ing absolutely  improbable  in  Adeline's  story.  In  fact,  Adeline 
very  nearly  believed  it  herself.  Hephzibah  wished  that  vigor- 
ous denial  could  prove  it  untrue. 

And  then   the  child  !•     Hephzibah    screwed    her    wrinkled 


289 

face  up  till  it  looked  like  an  enormous  spider.  That  woman 
Lady  of  the  Manor !  That  woman  !  Hephzibah  shook  her 
head  as  she  hurried  along.  "Who  is  thine  handmaid,"  she 
said,  aloud,  "  that  she  should  do  this  thing  ?" 

She  was  late,  and  she  found  the  Freule  waiting,  shawled  and 
gaitered  and  exceedingly  nervous,  in  the  dim  drawing-room, 
amid  driblets  of  unwilling  conversation  with  Juffrouw  Josine. 
Louisa  looked  vehement  reproaches,  and  longed  for  courage  to 
speak  them  ;  but  Hephzibah  was  too  violently  excited  by  her  af- 
ternoon's adventure  to  notice  such  trifles  as  these.  The  pair 
marched  off  through  the  damp  twilight. 

"  Red  Riding-hood  and  the  Wolf,"  said  Josine. 

"  Hephzibah,"  began  the  Freule  presently,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "  I  wish  you  would  walk  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
One  can't  tell  where  you  may  have  been." 

Hephzibah  obeyed  with  silent  protest. 

"  Hephzibah,"  hazarded  the  Freule  a  few  minutes  later,  unable 
to  bear  any  longer  the  gray  atmosphere  of  disapproval,  "  what 
is  this  terrible  secret  you  said  you  would  tell  me  the  other  day  ? 
You  have  alluded  to  it  several  times  lately,  and  always  declared 
you  dared  not  mention  it  in  the  house.  Well,  we  are  alone 
now,  on  the  road." 

"Oh,  it's  of  no  account,"  muttered  Hephzibah.  "And 
I  couldn't  shout  it  across,  besides,"  she  added,  in  a  lower 
key. 

"  Well,  come  a  little  nearer,  if  you  like,  but  not  nearer,  mind 
you,  than  the  middle." 

"  It's  nothing,"  said  the  maid,  gruffly. 

"  Oh,  but  it  is.  Coming  out,  you  told  me  it  was  most  impor- 
tant. Now,  Hephzibah,  you  are  in  a  bad  temper  because  your 
conscience  reproves  you." 

"  My  conscience  !"  exclaimed  the  immaculate  maid.  "  My  con- 
science reproves  me  a  hundred  times  a  day  !" 

"  So  much  the  better.     Then  tell  me  your  secret." 

A  struggle  was  going  on  in  the  handmaid's  bosom.  She  pro- 
longed it  for  some  distance,  perhaps  unnecessarily  ;  but  then  she 
rather  enjoyed  a  moral  struggle.  At  last  she  said,  in  a  dull, 
dissembling  voice : 

19 


290  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I'm  sure  now,  Freule,  that  Anne  Mary  steals  cook's  per- 
quisites.    I  can  prove  it." 

"  Pooh  !  Is  that  all  ?"  cried  the  disappointed  Freule.  "  You've 
talked  about  that  before,  and  I  don't  care  a  brass  farthing,  Heph- 
zibah.  A  nice  secret  to  make  secrets  of !  Go  along  to  the  other 
side  of  the  road — do  !" 

Hephzibah  obeyed,  looking  very  wise. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

THE     DEAD-AWAKE 

"Supposing  I  had  told  my  secret?"  reflected  Hephzibab, 
peeping  tbrougb  tbe  key-bole.  "  Supposing  I  had  told  my 
secret?  If  I  hadn't  met  that  woman  at  Klomp's  I  believe  I 
really  should  have  told  tbe  Freule  this  time.  Wonderful  are 
the  ways  of  Providence  !  Imagine  the  slatternly  creature  estab- 
lished here  at  the  Manor-house  playing  the  mistress  over — 
me/"  Hephzibab  peeped  down  again.  "She  in  there's  bad 
enough,  the  parson's  daughter.  But  at  least  she  leaves  a  body 
alone."  Then  Hephzibab  shuffled  away  on  velvet  slippers,  the 
only  soft  thing  about  her. 

The  key-hole  which  had  attracted  her  was  Ursula's.  My 
Lady  sat  at  her  nightly  task  by  the  lamp.  Her  forefinger  was 
inked,  her  earnest  forehead  was  puckered,  yet  the  figures  would 
not  add  up  right.  She  was  learning  book-keeping  by  double 
entry ;  twice  a  week  a  master  came  from  Drum. 

She  sighed,  and  pushed  her  hand  in  among  her  rumpled  hair. 
Romance  is  romance;  alas,  that  in  real  life  it  should  so  seldom 
be  romantic !  There  was  less  money  even  than  in  Otto's  time. 
Therefore,  things  went  even  worse  with  everybody  than  they 
had  gone  in  Otto's  time.  She  sighed,  returning  to  her  distaste- 
ful task. 

All  the  villagers  disliked  her,  and  she  knew  it.  They  con- 
sidered it  a  slight  upon  themselves  that  their  parson's  daughter 
should  usurp,  by  a  fluke,  the  ancient  throne  of  the  Van  Hel- 
monts. 

Ursula  would  not  have  minded  this,  however,  had  she  known 
how  to  pay  her  succession  duty  and  make  both  ends  meet. 

As  she  sat  thus,  working  and  worrying,  the  door  was  sud- 


292  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

dcnly  thrown  wide  open,  and,  without  any  warning,  Hephzibah 
walked  in. 

Her  face  shone  white;  her  whole  manner  and  expression  were 
as  of  one  sick  with  alarm. 

"  Come  up-stairs,  Mevrouw,"  she  said,  in  a  shrill  whisper ;  and 
when  Ursula  hesitated  she  caught  her  by  the  sleeve.  "  Come 
up-stairs,"  she  reiterated,  leading  the  way,  but  refusing  any  fur- 
ther explanation.  Ursula  mechanically  followed.  Gasping  for 
breath,  the  woman  ran  along  a  dim  corridor,  and  then  stopped 
in  the  dark  of  an  unused  room. 

"  Hark !"  she  said,  with  uplifted  finger. 

"  What  ?"  answered  Ursula,  impatiently.  "  I  hear  nothing. 
Do  you  ?" 

For  only  answer  Hephzibah  passed  behind  her  and  closed 
the  door,  through  which  a  faint  glimmer  of  light  had  come 
stealing.     They  were  then  in  absolute  darkness. 

"  Well,  what  now  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?"  repeated  the  young 
Baroness,  with  some  anxiety  in  her  tone.  In  the  obscurity  she 
yet  perceived  that  Hephzibah  had  uplifted  a  finger. 

"Hush!"  said  the  maid.  "You  will  hear  it  presently. 
There  !  There  it  is !"  She  bent  forward,  clutching  at  her  com- 
panion.    "  There  it  is !     What  do  you  say  now  ?" 

Ursula  fell  back  and  tore  open  the  door  again,  but  the  light 
thus  admitted  only  showed  looming  shapes. 

"  I  hear  nothing,"  she  said,  faintly,  dazed,  alone  with  this 
mad-woman.  She  had  always  had  an  undefined  dread  of  the 
crooked-eyed  maid. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  I  had  an  idea  that  if  you  came  it  would 
stop  !"  cried  Hephzibah.  "  Oh,  never  mind  the  door.  Door  or 
no  door,  it  won't  stop  now.  I've  heard  it  before,  several  times. 
It's  like  a  man  gasping.  In  there."  She  pointed  to  the  closed 
entrance  leading  to  an  inner  chamber.  "  Mevrouw,  dare  you 
really  say  you  hear  nothing  at  all  ?" 

Ursula  shuddered.  They  were  standing  in  the  deserted  nurs- 
ery ;  the  room  adjoining  was  that  in  which  Otto  had  died.  Both 
were  now  disused. 

"  Come,  Hephzibah,"  she  said,  soothingly.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing here  ;  you  are  mistaken.     Come  down-stairs.     You  are  dis- 


THE    DEAD-AWAKE  293 

tressed,  poor  thing,  by  the  terrible  memory  of  your  nursing  in 
this  very  room.  Do  not  think  of  it.  I  cannot  trust  my  own 
thoughts  to  dwell  on  those  days." 

But  the  waiting- woman  took  no  heed.  She  had  fallen  on  her 
knees,  and  remained  thus,  her  face  averted  towards  the  closed 
door  of  the  inner  chamber. 

"  O  God,  have  mercy  !"  she  wailed.  "  She  doesn't  hear  it ! 
What  have  /  done  ?  If  I  have  done  wrong,  my  fault  is  as  noth- 
ing compared  to  her  sin  !  She  must  hear  it.  Surely  she  must 
hear  it."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  in  a  calmer  tone,  "  It 
isn't  fair,"  she  said, 

Ursula  had  clutched  her  by  the  shoulder. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  do  you  know  ?"  asked  Ursula, 
resolutely. 

Still  the  woman  did  not  seem  to  hear  her. 

"  Hush  !"  said  Hephzibah,  falling,  with  uplifted  finger,  into 
her  earlier  attitude  of  intentness,  "  Listen.  A  sobbing,  chok- 
ing noise,  as  of  a  man  gasping  for  breath.  I  often  hear  it 
there.     Not  always.     If  I  always  heard  it  it  might  be  fancy." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?"  repeated  Ursula,  with  persistent 
stress. 

Hephzibah  hesitated.  Before  her  rose  the  image  of  Ade- 
line, fringe  and  all,  giving  orders  in  the  store-room.  She  turned 
suddenly. 

"Know,  Mevrouw?"  she  said.  "  What  should  I  know  ?  A 
great  deal  less  than  you,  anyway.  I'm  only  a  poor  servant.  I 
suppose  it's  some  of  Satan's  doing.  Ah,  he's  mighty  strong,  is 
Satan— mighty  strong  !"  She  slipped  away  towards  the  glimmer 
from  the  passage,  muttering,  "  Mighty,  mighty  strong,"  and  so 
stole  from  the  room. 

Ursula  made  no  effort  to  retain  her.  The  door  fell  to,  and 
the  black  silence  seemed  to  thicken.  Ursula  stood  quite  still.  In- 
voluntarily she  listened,  scornful  of  herself.  Something  creaked 
in  the  next  room,  or  near  her — her  heart  leaped  into  her  throat. 
With  an  exclamation  of  impatience  she  threw  open  the  inter- 
vening door. 

She  had  not  entered  these  two  death-chambers  since  her  ill- 
ness.    The  inner  one  was  empty  and  damply  chill.     Here  the 


294  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

shutters  were  thrown  back,  and  through  the  gaunt  window  a 
bluish  grayness  fell  across  the  deeper  dark.  Ursula's  figure 
struck  against  the  dim  twilight  in  a  great  black  bar. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  she  walked  to  the  window  and 
gazed  up  into  the  night.  Amid  a  confusion  of  tumbled  clouds 
an  occasional  star  lay  peeping,  like  a  diamond  through  black 
lace.  One  of  them,  close  above  her,  seemed  to  be  watching 
steadily. 

"  Otto,"  said  Ursula,  in  a  firm  whisper,  "I  am  doing  my  best. 
I  am  trying  to  keep  my  promise.  I  don't  know  how  God  judges 
me.     I  don't  know.     Otto,  I  am  doing  my  best." 

She  stood  for  some  time  thinking.  Then  she  shivered,  as  if 
suddenly  realizing  the  clammy  cold  all  about  her,  and  hurried 
away. 

In  the  corridor,  just  as  the  cheerful  lamplight  was  broadening 
to  greet  her,  she  met  Aunt  Louisa,  who  emerged  in  a  great  hurry 
from  her  own  private  sitting-room.  Aunt  Louisa  was  evidently 
in  one  of  her  "sinful  fits,"  as  Hephzibah  called  them.  (Hephzi- 
bah  called  "  sinful "  whatever  was  distasteful  to  herself.)  The 
Freule's  left  hand  held  a  letter,  and  her  right  hand  an  envelope. 
She  cried  out  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of   Ursula : 

"  Ursula,  I  must  have  my  interest !  I  didn't  ask  you  back 
for  the  capital — not  even  when  Otto  died.  But,  Ursula,  I  must 
have  my  interest." 

Ursula  paused.  The  Freule's  whole  face  quivered  with  pink 
excitement.     Both  her  extended  hands  shook. 

"  I  don't  understand.  Aunt  Louisa  !"  said  Ursula,  dizzily. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  Now,  Ursula,  don't  say  that.  You  know  how  nervous 
money  matters  make  me.  And  I'm  afraid  it  was  very  foolish 
of  me  to  give  my  money  to  Otto,  and  I  didn't  ask  it  back,  not 
even  when  you  got  it  all." 

"  It's  a  good  mortgage,"  interrupted  Ursula,  "  and,  besides, 
you  couldn't  ask  it  back." 

"  Now  don't  throw  those  law  terms  at  my  head,"  cried  the 
Freule,  in  a  tremulous  screech,  "  for  I  don't  know  what  they 
mean.  But  I  do  know  that  it's  very  ungrateful  of  you  to  speak 
like  that,  Ursula,  after  what  I've  done  for  you  all.     And  I  left 


THE    DEAD-AWAKE  295 

the  money  in  your  hands  because  I  think  you  are  strong,  and 
altogether  it  is  a  very  interesting  experiment.  But  I  must  have 
my  interest.  I  can't  do  without  my  interest.  Here's  my  man 
of  business  writes  that  Noks  has  prepared  him  " — the  Freule  re- 
ferred to  the  paper  which  crackled  between  her  fingers — "  for 
the  possibility  of  there  being  some  delay  in  the  payment  of  the 
next  instalment.  Now,  Ursula,  I  pay  my  board  and  wages  punct- 
ually, and  I  can't  have  that." 

"  When  is  the  next  payment  due  ?"  asked  Ursula. 

**0n  the  first  of  next  month.  Now,  Ursula,  don't  look  like 
that.  It  is  you  who  are  to  blame,  not  I.  Never  have  I  been 
twenty-four  hours  too  late,  though  poor  Theodore  used  to  leave 
the  money  lying  about  for  days.  But  your  mother-in-law  once 
truly  said  that,  at  any  rate,  you  had  this  of  royalty  about  you — 
you  could  do  no  wrong  !  Well,  that  is  strong,  and  I  have  no 
objection.  By-the-bye,  your  mother-in-law  meant  it  ironically. 
But  strong  people  should,  above  all,  be  honest,  Ursula,  and  it's 
dishonest  to  take  advantage  of  the  helplessness  of  a  poor  igno- 
rant spinster  like  me." 

"  You  will  have  your  interest,"  said  Ursula,  by  the  stair-head, 
under  the  full  glare  of  the  lamp.  "  Noks  was  wrong."  And 
she  went  slowly  down  into  the  vestibule.  She  felt  that  she  must 
get  away  for  the  moment  from  this  suffocating  house. 

She  took  a  hat  and  passed  forth  into  the  night.  A  cold  little 
wind  was  curling  in  and  out  among  the  trees.  Everywhere 
spread  the  grimness,  the  bare,  black  hardness  of  March,  shroud- 
ed in  darkness  and  indistinctly  threatening.  Ursula's  yearning 
went  out,  in  this  absolute  solitude,  to  the  husband  whose  strong 
love  had  lifted  her  up  and  placed  her  thus  terribly  high.  Even 
a  servant  still  heard  his  voice  in  its  dying  agony.  Had  she, 
then,  the  wife,  already  forgotten  him  ?  No,  indeed  ;  more  closely 
than  during  his  lifetime  their  existences  were  interwoven  in  her 
faithful  fulfilment  of  his  charge.  She  was  possessed  with  a  sud- 
den foolish  desire  to  hear  that  kind  voice,  that  earnest  voice 
again — aye,  even  the  last  gasp,  as  did  Hephzibah.  She  hurried 
in  the  direction  of  the  church-yard,  of  the  vault  where  he  lay.  He 
had  loved  her — loved  her,  lifted  her  up — the  simple  village  girl — 
to  be  my  Lady  Nobody.    She  wanted  him  again.    She  wanted  him. 


296  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

All  at  once,  as  she  was  hastening  on,  the  memory  struck  her, 
like  a  new  thought,  of  how  he  had  doubted  her  honor.  She 
stopped,  stock-still,  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Then,  like  a 
smitten  flower  from  the  stem,  she  dropped  by  the  side  of  a 
broad  elm -tree,  and  for  the  first  time  since  her  widowhood 
gave  way  to  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  What's  this  ?"  said  a  rough  voice,  close  in  front,  and  a  dark 
lantern  flashed  out  its  hideous  wide  circle.  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?     Now,  then,  look  sharp  !" 

The  Baroness  staggered  to  her  feet. 

"It  is  I,"  she  stammered — "Mevrouw  van  Helmont;"  and  then, 
recognizing  the  local  policeman,  "  I  am  not  well,  Juffers ;  help 
me  home." 

The  man  escorted  her  in  amazed  if  deferential  silence.  He 
could  understand  even  a  Baroness  being  suddenly  taken  ill,  but 
he  could  not  understand  a  Baroness  being  out  there  alone  at 
this  time  of  night.  It  was  not  difficult  for  her  to  read  his 
thoughts  as  he  tramped  on,  lantern  in  hand ;  she  gladly  dis- 
missed him,  witli  an  unwisely  large  gratuity,  as  soon  as  the 
lights  of  the  house  came  in  sight. 

"  Well !"  he  mused,  standing,  clumsily  respectful,  with  the 
broad  silver  piece  on  his  open  palm,  "  she  isn't  too  ill  to  walk, 
anyway.  Straight  as  a  dart.  Blest  if  I  didn't  think  it  was 
Tipsy  Liza !  I  wish  that  she'd  march  as  easy  when  I  takes  her 
to  the  lock-up." 

Hephzibah  came  forward  as  the  young  Baroness  entered  the 
house.  With  unusual  politeness,  but  with  averted  eyes,  she 
took  that  lady's  hat.  And  Ursula,  returning  to  her  room,  where 
her  copy-books  lay  patiently,  painfully  waiting,  felt  that  hence- 
forth she  was,  more  or  less,  in  this  silent  servant's  power. 

"  I  will  go  on,"  she  said,  doggedly,  settling  down  to  "  debt- 
or "  and  "  creditor,"  "  with  God's  help  or  without." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

POLITICS 

Next  day,  the  spring  weather  being  iiiild  and  clawless,  like  a 
couchant  cat,  Mynheer  Mopius  arrived  at  Horstwyk  station.  He 
wore  a  silk*  neckerchief  and  new  galoshes,  for  Harriet  was  a 
careful  wife  to  him  in  a  way.  He  had  not  felt  in  good  health 
of  late,  and  his  leathery  cheek  had  deepened  to  gamboge. 

"  Be  very  cautious  what  you  eat.  Jacobus,"  Harriet  had  said 
as  he  was  preparing  to  depart.  "  If  you  partake  of  anything 
greasy,  you  are  sure  to  be  ill  again." 

"  I  don't  care,"  replied  Jacobus,  recklessly.  "  I'd  rather  die 
than  not  eat.  What's  the  use  of  living  if  there's  nothing  left  to 
live  for  ?  I'd  rather  die  at  once  than  vegetate  for  thirty  years 
on  slops.  Pass  me  the  pickles.  I  could  wager  that  you  make 
believe  I'm  the  baby  that  hasn't  come  !" 

Harriet  smiled  thinly.  The  greatest  disappointment  which 
can  befall  a  woman  lay  upon  her.  Stowed  away  up-stairs  were 
a  pink  berceaunette  and  a  quantity  of  little  garments  that  had 
never  been  used. 

"  There's  not  much  chance  of  my  getting  rich  food  at  the 
Horst,"  continued  Mopius.  "  Ha  !  See  ?  I  should  think  they 
weigh  out  their  butter  there." 

"  Poor  Ursula !"  said  Harriet,  softly.  After  a  few  moments 
of  silence,  she  added,  "  It  was  such  a  pretty  little  boy." 

"Huh?" 

"  Jacobus,  how  late  will  you  want  the  carriage  V 

"  I  sha'n't  want  the  carriage." 

"  Not  want  the  carriage  ?"  Harriet  well  knew  how  he  en- 
joyed driving  away  from  the  railway  station  amid  an  admiring 
crowd  of  acquaintances  who  walked. 


298  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  No,  I  shall  come  home  on  foot.  Go  you  for  a  drive,  Har- 
riet ;  it's  rather  a  nice  day.  It  '11  put  some  color  in  your  pale 
cheeks." 

She  looked  across  at  him  gratefully. 

"  Law  !"  he  said,  "  to  think  how  you've  gone  off  of  late. 
Who'd  have  thought  it  ?  You  were  a  deuced  fine  woman,  Har- 
riet, in  days  gone  by." 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  fine  woman  yet,"  she  answered.  "  You  must 
leave  me  a  little  time."  She  got  up  and  walked  to  the  win- 
dow. "  Willem  is  waiting,"  she  said.  "  Good-bye.  Mind  you 
don't  sit  in  a  draught." 

Upon  arriving  at  Horstwyk,  Mopius  went  straight  to  the  Par- 
sonage, whence  he  could  most  conveniently  order  a  fly  for  the 
Ilorst.  The  Domine  came  out  into  the  garden,  and  gave  his 
brother-in-law  a  hearty  greeting.  Nevertheless,  he  hastened  to 
cut  off  any  risk  of  a  tete-a-tete. 

"  Josine  will  be  delighted,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  go  in  to  her. 
We  have  not  seen  you  for  a  long  time,  Jacobus.  Not  since — " 
The  Domine  threw  open  the  sitting-room  door. 

"Not  since  the  funeral,"  supplemented  Jacobus,  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  "  Ah,  that  was  a  very  sad  business. 
Good-morning,  Josine."  He  shook  his  head  mournfully.  Jaco- 
bus was  of  opinion  that  social  events  should  be  made  to  yield 
their  full  meed  of  emotional  enjoyment. 

"  Ah  me  !"  replied  Miss  Mopius,  heaving  an  enormous  sigh. 
The  whole  apartment  was  littered  with  varicolored  tissue-paper 
in  sheets  and  strips  and  snippets.  Miss  Mopius  was  fabricating 
artificial  flowers.  Her  whole  face  assumed  an  expression  of 
deeply  dejected  resignation. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Jacobus?"  she  said.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
I  hope  you  are  better.     Sad,  indeed.     Did  you  say  '  sad '  ?" 

"  I  did,"  responded  her  brother,  sitting  down. 

"  Some  people  say  '  sad,'  "  explained  Josine,  in  the  same  tone 
of  aggrieved  acquiescence,  "  and  some  people  say  '  bad.'  I  sav 
^  bad.' " 

The  Domine,  who  had  remained  standing  near,  emitted  what 
sounded  like  a  slight  grunt  of  impatience. 


POLITICS  299 

"  Yes,  Roderigue,  you  may  object,"  continued  Miss  Mopius, 
carefully  studying  the  pink  paper  frill  between  her  delicate  fin- 
gers, "  but  nothing  will  deter  me  from  doing  my  duty.  And  it 
is  my  duty  to  point  out  distinctly  that  our  dear  Ursula  has  com- 
mitted what  I  do  not  hesitate  to  qualify  as  a  crime.  It  may  be 
painful  to  you  as  a  father — " 

"  Oh  no,  not  any  longer,"  interrupted  the  Domine. 

"  I  am  inexpressibly  grieved  to  hear  you  say  so.  But  it  is  all 
the  more  incumbent  upon  me  to  show  that  I,  at  least,  am  not 
blinded  by  affection — or,  let  me  openly  declare,  by  prejudice.  I 
am  devotedly  attached  to  my  niece,  but,  as  I  regretfully  con- 
fessed to  Mevrouw  Noks,  and — and  one  or  two  other  people, 
with  tears — aye,  with  tears  I  said  it" — Miss  Mopius  selected  a 
wire  and  planted  it  in  the  heart  of  her  flower — "  dear  Otto  was 
murdered  ;  inadvertently,  of  course,  yet  none  the  less  wilfully 
murdered."  She  shut  her  thin  lips  with  a  snap,  and  twirled  a 
wisp  of  green  paper  round  the  wire. 

"  The  weather  is  nice  and  mild,"  said  Mopius,  *'  and  for  the 
time  of  year  I  should  call  it  seasonable." 

"  I  notice  an  occasional  crocus,"  said  the  Domine. 

"  He  deserved  a  better  fate,"  said  Josine. 

She  shook  her  red  ringlets  and  put  up  a  thin  hand  to  her 
head.  "  My  heart  aches,"  she  said,  "  to  think  how  easily  it 
might  all  have  been  avoided.  Ursula  was  a  child.  Poor  Otto  ! 
he  wanted  a  woman  of  more  experience — not  a  plaything,  but  a 
helpmate.  He  might  have  lived  forty  years  longer.  Ah,  he 
deserved — " 

"  You,"  interrupted  Jacobus,  fiercely,  with  a  sneer,  his  habit- 
ual form  of  humor.     She  bored  him. 

Miss  Mopius  rose  to  the  occasion.  Slowly  she  smoothed  out 
her  crimson-figured  wrapper.  "  Yes,"  she  said.  "  Me,  if  you 
like,  or  any  other  woman  past  thirty.  Jacobus,  you  are  unkind. 
Now  you  are  here,  you  might  as  well  give  me  some  money  for 
'Tryphena.'  We  are  sending  out  a  box.  I  am  making  these 
flowers  for  it." 

"  Flowers  !"  growled  Mopius.     "  What — to  sell  ?" 

"  No,  no — to  send.  Freule  Louisa  has  knitted  seventy-three 
little  tippets  for  the  school-children— that's  the  useful  part,  Jaco- 


300  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

* 

bus.  And  I  make  these  flowers  for  their  Christmas  treat — 
that's  the  ornamental.  I  must  admit,"  cried  Josine,  with  a  sim- 
per, "  that  I  always  prefer  the  ornamental !" 

"  Where's  your  missions  ?"  queried  Mopius.  "  I  dare  say 
they've  got  flowers  enough  out  there.  Better  than  those."  He 
contemptuously  pointed  a  fat  finger  at  a  whole  cluster  of  bright- 
colored  balls. 

"  In  Borneo,  Jacobus,  among  the  wild  Dajaks,  the  head-hun- 
ters, Jacobus."  She  rested  her  work  in  her  lap.  "  So  you  de- 
spise my  poor  flowers  ?  They  will  have,  I  feel  confident,  their 
message  to  those  savage  hearts." 

"  Bosh  !"  said  Jacobus. 

"  What,  do  you  not  believe  in  the  civilizing  influences  of  re- 
finement ?"  Josine  spoke  with  sudden  asperity.  "  What  are 
you  but  a  Dajak  ?" — Jacobus  lifted  his  big  bald  head  indig- 
nantly— "as  the  President  of  the  Missionary  Conference  so 
beautifully  said — " 

"  I  ?  What  does  he  mean  ?  Who  talked  about  me  ?"  burst 
in  Jacobus,  furiously.  "  If  my  candidature  for  Parliament  ex- 
poses me — " 

"  You,  I,  everybody.  What  are  we  but  Dajaks  clothed  and 
in  our  right  minds?  I  feel  confident  that  when  the  innocent 
children  hang  up  my  roses  on  the  rude  walls  of  their  dwellings, 
their  fathers  will  take  down  the  hideous  heads  of  victims  which 
now  form  their  only  decoration.  Jacobus,  could  you  leave  a 
rosebud  lying  next  to  a  skull  ?" 

"  Josine,  you're  a  fool,"  answered  Jacobus.  "  I  wonder  how 
Roderick  can  find  patience  to  live  with  you." 

The  Domine  sighed,  then  coughed  hastily,  blushing. 

"  What  do  the  city  missionaries  say  ?"  persisted  Miss  Mopius, 
who  was  accustomed  to  having  the  last  word;  "  *  Beautify  the 
home,'  '  Put  up  a  picture  in  your  room.'  Mine  is  the  same 
principle.  Jacobus,  after  thus  rudely  abusing  me,  you  might 
give  me  a  contribution." 

"  Oh,  well — there  !"  replied  Jacobus,  fingering  out  a  gold 
piece  from  his  waistcoat-pocket.  "  But  I  don't  believe  in  mis- 
sionaries.    They're  all  dashed  nonsense  and  lies." 

The  Domine  started  by  the  window,  like  a  war-horse  that 


POLITICS  301 

hears  the  biigle-call.  *'  Don't  say  that,  Jacobus,"  he  interposed. 
"  You  shouldn't  say  that." 

"  Shouldn't  ?  Shouldn't  ?  I  know  more  about  missionaries 
than  you  do.  A  set  of  guzzling  do-nothings,  living  on  the 
money  of  silly  spinsters  like  her."  He  pointed  to  his  sister, 
who  immediately  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 

*'  You  forget  that  I  also  have  seen  something  of  heathen 
countries,"  replied  the  Domine,  with  somewhat  heightened  in- 
tonation ;  "  and  I,  who  was  then  a  soldier  of  the  sword,  I  de- 
light to  pay  my  tribute  of  humblest  admiration  to  the  soldiers 
of  the  Cross.  Theirs  is  a  certain  daily  sacrifice  without  possi- 
bility of  fame  or  reward;  and  you.  Jacobus  —  forgive  me  that 
I  say  it — you  people  who  have  gone  in  search  of  money,  where 
they  go  in  search  of  souls,  you,  on  your  return,  should  at  least 
have  the  grace  to  be  silent  about  their  occasional  delinquencies, 
as  they  are  about  your  continuous  atrocities.  Of  course  I  am 
speaking  collectively.  I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  to  in- 
sinuate— " 

"  Abuse  Josine,"  cried  Jacobus,  floundering  to  his  feet ;  "  I 
see  my  cab  has  come.  Begad  !  why  don't  you  pitch  into  Jo- 
sine  ?" 

"  Josine  is  a  woman,"  replied  the  Domine,  shamefacedly,  fol- 
lowing his  retreating  brother-in-law  down  the  passage.  "  I  al- 
ways feel  that  we  are  at  a  great  disadvantage  with  regard  to 
the  gentler  sex,  though  I  freely  admit  that  Josine — " 

"  Well,  you  needn't  work  your  steam  off  on  me,  and  that 
when  I  so  seldom  come  to  see  you !  By  Jove !  it's  too  bad. 
Look  here.  Rovers,  I  am  going  on  to  Ursula.  I  wanted  to 
have  spoken  to  you  about  serious  matters,  instead  of  wasting 
my  time  on  missionaries.  You  know,  I'm  the  Radical  candidate 
for  Horstwyk.  Of  course  you'll  support  me,  and  Ursula  will 
take  her  cue  from  you." 

"  I  have  no  politics,"  replied  the  Domine,  resting  his  armless 
sleeve  on  the  gate-post;  "and  Ursula  will  judge  for  herself." 

"  You  mean  to  oppose  me  ?"  cried  Jacobus,  suddenly  filling 
the  fly-window  with  his  big  orange  face. 

"No;  I  never  vot^ — I  do  not  consider  it  a  part  of  a  pastor's 
work.     But  I  certainly  shall  not  influence  Ursula." 


302  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Oh,  be  hanged  to  you  !"  retorted  Mopius,  immensely  put 
out.  "But  I'll  undertake  to  manage  Ursula  without  any  in- 
flnence  of  yours.     Drive  on,  coachman — to  the  Horst." 

The  Domine  crept  away  to  his  sanctum  with  slow  shakes  of 
the  head.  He  reflected  that  Mopius  might  have  been  right 
about  "  letting  off  the  steam."  But  what  can  one  do  ?  Has 
Pericles  not  said  that,  "  He  who  knows  a  thing  to  be  right,  but 
does  not  clearly  explain  it,  is  no  better  than  he  who  does  not 
know."  Again  the  Domine  shook  his  head,  and,  with  a  me- 
chanical glance  at  the  foxed  engraving  of  Havelock,  he  hurried 
to  his  easy-chair  and  his  Bible. 

Mopius  meanwhile  was  hastening  to  his  second  and  far  more 
important  interview.  Gradually  his  ruffled  feathers  smoothed 
down,  and  he  smiled  with  a  certain  complacence.  Rovers 
had  always  been  a  wrong-headed  fellow,  and  therefore  obsti- 
nate. "Head-strong  and  head-wrong"  was  a  favorite  formula 
with  Mopius,  who,  of  course,  considered  himself  to  be  neither. 
He  had  disapproved  of  Mary's  marriage,  although  not  knowing 
Captain  Rovers  at  the  time.  Mary  was  handsome,  he  said,  and 
might  have  done  better.  Besides,  some  exceptionally  important 
people  disapprove  of  all  their  relations'  marriages  on  principle. 

Mopius  was  now  the  oflicial  candidate  of  the  Radical  party. 
He  had  explained  that  he  was  uncle  to  the  Baroness  van 
Helmont  of  the  Horst,  and  everybody  had  immediately  under- 
stood his  fitness  for  the  post  he  coveted.  For  the  influence 
of  the  Lady  of  the  Manor  must  be  all-decisive.  It  wanted  but 
a  word  passed  round  to  the #  tenants,  and  the  election  was 
secure.  Was  Mynheer  Mopius  assured  of  his  niece's  support? 
So  many  of  these  high-born  ladies  had  a  weakness  for  religion. 
It  was  old-fashioned,  of  course,  and  the  worse  for  wear,  but 
they  inherited  it,  like  the  family  jewels,  or  gout. 

Mynheer  Mopius  shrewdly  closed  his  eyelids.  The  move- 
ment was  eloquent  of  quiet  strength.  If  that  was  all  they 
wanted,  he  could  set  them  at  rest.     He  had  his  little  plan. 

Well,  that  was  all  they  wanted.  He  need  only  bring  them 
a  signed  declaration  from  Ursula,  and  they  would  recognize 
him.     So  he  started  for  the  Horst  to  fetch  it.     Meanwhile — 


POLITICS  303 

such  things  leak  out  —  he  was  practically  their  candidate 
already. 

Only  the  Baron  van  Trossart  had  been  disagreeable  and  ex- 
acting. But  he  was  notoriously  an  ill-tempered  man.  He  had 
muttered  stupid  insinuations  about  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing. 
And  he  had  finally  insisted  upon  a  written  obligation  from 
Mopius — "  quite  between  you  and  me,  of  course  " — that  the 
latter  would  always  and  unconditionally  vote  with  the  Liberal 
party. 

"Why,  of  course,  Mynheer  the  Baron,"  Jacobus  had  said, 
eagerly.  "  You  must  have  misunderstood  me  when  we  met  in 
Mynheer  van  Troyen's  smoking-room.  *  Always  and  uncon- 
ditionally vote  with  the  Liberal  party.'  Where  shall  I  sign  it  ? 
I  have  not  the  slightest  objection.  You  will  support  me,  I 
hope?" 

"  Yes,  and  be  damned  to  you,"  said  the  Baron  van  Trossart. 

When  Mopius  arrived  at  the  Manor-house  Ursula  was  again 
closeted  with  the  notary.  She  rose  with  a  swift  impulse  of 
relief  as  soon  as  her  uncle's  name  reached  her  ear.  She  looked 
harassed.  "You  must  excuse  me,  Mynheer  Noks,"  she  said, 
going  to  the  door.    "  We  can  talk  it  over  again  another  time." 

"  When  ?"  said  the  notary. 

"  One  of  these  days.    To-morrow,  perhaps.    No,  the  day  after." 

The  notary  followed  her,  inflexible. 

"  Mevrouw,"  he  said,  "  we  can't  put  off  quarter-day.  There 
is  the  interest,  and  there  is  that  bill  I  spoke  of.  Three  thou- 
sand florins  are  still  wanting  to  make  up  the  sum.  In  ten  days' 
time  you  must  have  them." 

"  Must !"  repeated  Ursula,  haughtily,  drawing  herself  up. 

*'  Yes.  Must.  It's  not  my  '  must,'  but  the  law's.  The  law 
knows  nothing  of  great  ladies.  High  or  low,  must  is  must." 
Ah,  thought  the  irritated  notary,  Mejuffrouw  Rovers,  I  had  you 
there ! 

"  Mynheer  Noks,  I  cannot  keep  my  uncle  waiting." 

Mopius  was  standing  in  the  small  drawing-room  with  the 
Guicciardi  ceiling,  his  fishy  eyes  unappreciatively  fixed  on  a 
Florentine  inlaid  cabinet  full  of  cameos  and  signets. 


304  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  A  lot  of  money  here,"  he  said,  by  way  of  greeting,  as 
Ursula  entered.  "  And  what  rubbish  outside  a  museum  !  Why, 
my  terra-cottas  at  Blanda  are  ten  times  as  effective." 

"The  things  belong  to  the  Dowager  Baroness,"  replied 
Ursula. 

"  Why,  you're  the  Dowager  Baroness  now,  ain't  you  ?" 
objected  Mopius.  "  Harriet  said  so  when  we  sent  our  cards. 
Who'd  have  thought  it  of  Mary's  child  ?  Not  that  I  care  a 
brass  farthing  for  barons  or  princes  of  any  kind.  You  couldn't 
make  a  greater  mistake,  Ursula,  than  to  imagine  that  I  felt  in 
any  way  proud  about  your  elevation;  so  don't  ever  come  offer- 
ing to  do  me  any  service  of  any  kind." 

"  It  is  the  last  thing  I  should  wish  to  do,"  replied  Ursula. 
"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

"  Quite  right,  though  I  can't  say  you  put  it  very  prettily. 
However,  in  this  family,  it's  I  that  confer  benefits.  I've  come 
here  with  that  object  now.  You're  a  mighty  fine  lady,  Ursula; 
but  you  may  be  glad  of  a  burgher  uncle  with  a  well-filled 
purse." 

Ursula  waited,  wondering. 

"  I'm  going  to  offer  you  money,"  said  her  uncle,  bluntly. 

Ursula  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  floor.  "  You  are  doubly 
mistaken.  Uncle  Jacobus,"  she  answered  in  her  coldest  manner. 
"  I  am  not  a  fine  lady,  nor  am  I  a  beggar." 

"  Hoity-toity  !  Not  a  beggar  ?  H'm.  No  money  wanted  ? 
Ha !"  Mopius  got  up,  in  all  the  splendor  of  his  well-clothed 
portliness.  "How  about  that  bill  which  falls  due  on  the  first? 
Ah,  you  see,  I  know.    How  about  that,  my  Lady  of  the  Horst  ?" 

Ursula  rose  also.  She  was  not  too  proud  to  accept  assistance. 
But  of  some  of  our  friends  we  know  at  once  that  their  seeming 
favors  cannot  really  be  to  our  advantage.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  finding  out. 

"  Does  everybody  in  Drum  know  all  about  my  affairs  ?"  asked 
Ursula,  her  pale  face  turning  very  red. 

"  Everybody  ?  Fie  !  am  I  everybody  ?  Ursula,  I  can  never 
forget  that  you  are  my  own  sister  Mary's  only  child." 

"  No,"  replied  Ursula,  "  I  suppose  not." 

"  But  a  good  many  people  do  know,  undeniably.     And  that 


POLITICS  305 

must  end.  It  hurts  my  feelings.  I  am  not  a  windbag  of  a 
noble.  I  am  a  simple  gentleman,  a  hater  of  shams.  I  like 
money  to  ring  clear  on  the  counter,  full  weight."  Jacobus  pat- 
ted his  waistcoat-pocket.  "  So,  Ursula,  this  is  what  I  have  to 
propose :  Things  can't  go  on  in  the  present  manner,  nor  can  I 
have  my  niece  sold  up.  I  offer  to  make  you  an  annual  pay- 
ment of  five  thousand  florins — " 

"  Uncle  Jacobus !" 

Mynheer  Mopius  smiled  with  contented  deprecation. 

"  That  is  your  side  of  the  matter.  As  long  as  I  represent  the 
district  of  Horstwyk  in  Parliament.     That  is  mine." 

"But  you  may  never  represent  Horstwyk  in  Parliament?" 

Mynheer  Mopius  sat  down  again. 

"  That  depends  upon  my  Lady  of  the  Horst,"  he  said.  "  So 
you  see  it  is  very  simple.  You  intimate  to  your  tenants  that  you 
wish  them  to  vote  for  Mopius,  and  I  pay  in  to  your  bankers  the 
sum  I  have  just  named." 

Ursula  remained  silent,  thoughtful. 

"  It  is  pure  generosity  on  my  part,"  continued  her  uncle  ; 
"  for,  anyway,  you  surely  wouldn't  have  instructed  them  to  vote 
on  the  other  side.  But  that's  my  way.  I  don't  mind.  And 
I'm  glad  to  help  my  sister  Mary's  child." 

Ursula  seemed  slowly  to  have  understood  the  very  simple 
transaction.  Her  uncle  watched  her  with  a  trace  of  anxiety  in 
Ins  unhealthy  eyes.  Surely  there  was  nothing  in-  his  offer  dis- 
honest or  dishonorable  ? 

"  There  is  one  little  objection  to  the  arrangement  you  pro- 
pose," said  Ursula,  at  last. 

"  Of  course,"  replied  Mopius  ;  "  women  always  have  one  lit- 
tle objection  to  every  arrangement  —  it  is  their  way  of  getting 
the  last  word." 

"  I  mean  one  objection  which  renders  all  others  superfluous. 
You  are  the  Liberal  candidate,  and  my  sympathies  are  with  the 
Clericals." 

Mynheer  Mopius  sat  back,  puffing  and  snorting. 

"  Nonsense !  "  he  said — "  Ursula,  nonsense  I  What  do  women 
know  about  politics  ?  Your  father  confessed  he  knew  nothing,  so 
he  can't  have  taught  you.    And  Otto,  I  was  given  to  understand — " 


306  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Let  us  leave  Otto  out  of  the  question,  please,"  interrupted 
Ursula,  with  some  asperity.  "  In  this  matter,  at  least,  I  am  my 
own  mistress." 

"  But  the  traditions  of  the  Van  Helmont  family — " 

"  The  traditions  of  the  Van  Helmont  family  are,  of  course, 
Conservative,  and  Conservatism  is  dead.  At  this  moment  I,  a 
woman,  have  to  choose,  according  to  my  feeble  lights,  between 
State  atheism  and  a  persecuted  sect." 

"  And  lose,"  said  Mopius,  "  the  five  thousand  florins." 

But  that  was  a  stupid  move.  Ursula's  eye  kindled  in  the 
silence  which  ensued. 

"  Ursula,"  exclaimed  Jacobus  in  despair,  for  he  saw  his 
chances  fading,  "  you  are  utterly  unreasonable  !  How  dare  you 
suggest  that  I  am  an  atheist,  that  I  have  any  objection  to  re- 
ligion ?  I  distinctly  approve  of  religion.  It  is  a  praise- 
worthy and  highly  respectable  thing,  and  I  always  allow  the 
servants  to  go  to  church.  Your  aunt  .losine  is  right :  you  are 
nothing  but  a  foolish  child.  What  do  you  know  about 
politics  ?" 

"  Very  little,"  replied  Ursula,  calmly;  "  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  less  one  knows  about  politics,  the  better  one  can  choose 
between  principles.  And  I  choose  the  principle  of  liberty  to 
worship  God." 

Jacobus  flourished  his  big  hand  till  he  almost  touched  her 
face.  "  Hang  your  quiet  way  !"  he  cried.  "  There's  no  talking 
to  a  woman  like  you.  So  you  mean  to  tell  me  your  mind's 
made  up,  you  fool?  Instead  of  living  here  in  luxury  and 
splendor,  all  settled  and  comfortable,  as  I  suggest,  you'll  let 
this  over-mortgaged  place  come  under  the  hammer,  and  go  home 
to  your  old  father  without  clothes  to  your  back  ?" 

Ursula  stood,  black  and  tall,  by  the  desolate  hearth.  "  Uncle 
Mopius,  I  don't  want  the  money,  but  I'm  very  sorry  not  to  be 
able  to  do  as  you  wish.  This  is  my  sole  opportunity,  my  single 
bit  of  influence,  so  to  say,  in  my  new  position,  and  I  must  use 
it  as  I  think  best." 

Tears  of  spite  swan  across  Mynheer  Mopius's  vision.  "  Ur- 
sula," he  said,  ''  you — you  idiot,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  you 
had  political  opinions  hefore  P 


POLITICS  307 

"  I  didn't  know  you  cared — but  what  difference  would  that 
have  made  ?"  she  answered,  innocently. 

He  caught  up  his  hat  with  an  indignant  swoop.  <' Never 
again,"  he  said,  "  shall  you  touch  a  penny  ©f  mine.  You  are 
ruining  my  prospects  and  your  own,  from  sheer  caprice.  I 
shall  never,  now,  be  a  member  of  Parliament.  But  I'll  pay  you 
out.  And  to  think  that  you  have  done  this — you,  who  are  my 
own  sister  Mary's  child." 

'*  Yes,"  replied  Ursula,  grimly.     "  1  always  was." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 
THE    OLD    BLOT 

"  What  now  ?"  exclaimed  Ursula,  still  standing  where  Mopius 
had  left  her,  by  the  great  unused  fireplace.  "  I  cannot  even 
trust  Noks,  who  chatters.  Poor  father  knows  nothing  about 
business.     I  am  quite  alone." 

Even  as  she  spoke  there  flashed  across  her  mind  a  memory 
of  her  husband's  words :  "  Not  Gerard.  Never  Gerard.  If  ever 
you  want  a  counsellor,  turn  to  Theodore  Helmont." 

Hardly  knowing  what  she  did — certainly  not  knowing  why 
she  did  it — she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  telegram,  then  and  there, 
to  this  consin  she  barely  knew. 

"  Can  you  come  here  for  two  days?     I  greatly  desire  it." 

As  soon  as  the  boy  had  ridden  away  she  wished  she  had 
worded  her  message  quite  differently.  An  hour  later  she  wished 
she  had  not  sent  it  at  all. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said  at  luncheon,  speaking  very  loudly  and 
distinctly,  as  people  had  to  do  nowadays  with  the  old  lady,  "  I 
have  asked  Theodore  van  Helmont  to  come  and  stay  here  for  a 
day  or  two." 

"  Whom  ?"  asked  the  Baroness. 

"  Theodore  van  Helmont." 

"  The  house  is  yours,  Ursula,  now,  to  do  what  you  like  with, 
but " — the  Dowager  began  to  cry — "  you  might  have  asked 
somebody  with  another  name." 

"  It  is  on  business,"  replied  Ursula,  curtly. 

"  Business  again,"  said  the  old  lady,  in  an  aggrieved  tone ; 
*'  since  my  poor  Theodore  died  one  would  think  we  kept  a  shop. 
Oh,  ask  him,  by  all  means.  He  is  the  plebeian  young  man.  I  have 
nothing  to  say.     It  is  the  invasion  of  the — the — what,  Louisa  ?" 


THE    OLD    BLOT  309 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  the  Goths  and  Vandals,"  replied  Louisa, 
very  busy  with  her  meal,  which  she  always  treated  seriously. 
"  Well,  the  Goths  and  Vandals  were  a  strong  new  element ;  they 
were  just  what  an  effete  society  wanted.  The  great  misfortune 
of  our  modern  civilization  is  that  all  the  Goths  and  Vandals 
have  been  used  up." 

"  Invasion  of  the  Goths  and  Vandals,"  repeated  the  Dowager. 
"  But  I  don't  mind.  All  I  ask  is  to  be  allowed  to  finish  my 
*  Memoir.'  Then  I  shall  go  and  sleep  with  Theodore  and  the 
children.  You  won't  put  me  in  the  big  vault,  will  you,  Ursula  ? 
Do  the  graves  belong  to  Ursula,  too  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ursula,  hastily. 

"  Who  did  you  say  was  coming  to  stay  here  ?" 

"  Theodore  van  Helmont,  mamma,  from  Bois-le-Duc." 

''  Theodore,"  repeated  the  Dowager,  reflectively.  "  That  was 
Henry's  son.  I'm  glad  he's  coming.  He  will  be  able  to  tell 
me  in  what  year  his  father  made  that  ridiculous  marriage — the 
first  mesalliance  in  the  Helmont  family." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that,"  declared  Louisa,  brightly.  "  '54 
or  'b^y 

"  I  want  to  be  exact,"  replied  the  Dowager,  in  her  uncertain 
drawl.  **  I've  got  it  somewhere  among  my  documents,  but  I 
couldn't  find  it  again." 

Two  days  passed  without  any  answer.  Ursula's  heart  burned 
within  her :  at  the  thought  of  this  neglect  she  turned  suddenly 
hot  and  cold.  In  her  quietly  imperious  necessity  she  had  never 
doubted  but  that  her  summons  would  be  obeyed. 

Several  times  during  the  twenty-four  hours  the  old  Baroness 
would  ask  when  the  guest  was  expected. 

"  We  are  in  mourning,  Ursula,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  will 
not  forget  that  we  are  in  mourning.  I  think  you  went  out  of 
it  too  soon  for  your  father-in-law.  But  perhaps  your  customs 
are  different."  (This  was  a  standing,  oft-repeated  grievance.) 
"  However,  it  is  barely  nine  months  since  your  husband 
died." 

"It  is  six,"  replied  Ursula;  "I  shall  not  forget." 

"  The  young  man  does  not  seem  too  anxious,  certainly,"  in- 


310  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

terposed  Aunt  Louisa,  over  her  crochet.  "  You  ask  him,  and 
he  doesn't  reply.     I  prefer  the  days  of  chivalry." 

"  But  you  don't  remember  the  age  of  chivalry.  Aunt  Louisa," 
said  Ursula,  whose  patience  was  distinctly  overwrought.  She 
objected  to  hearing  her  own  innermost  thought  thus  clearly 
stated  by  the  Freule. 

"  No ;  1  was  born  fifty-seven  years  ago ;  I  am  in  no  way 
ashamed  of  it,"  replied  Aunt  Louisa,  coolly.  "But  what  has 
that  to  do  with  the  subject?  You  must  be  very  unimaginative, 
Ursula,  or  have  read  very  little.  If  you  weren't  so  careless 
about  your  books,  and  didn't  let  them  get  dog-eared  (as  you  do), 
I  should  lend  you  Madame  de  Roncevalles'  book  on  'The 
Decline  of  European  Manners.'  It  is  wonderfully  interesting. 
It  proves  from  the  fossil  remains  that  the  cave-dwellers,  at  their 
cannibal  banquets,  always  ate  the  women  first." 

"  Louisa,  it  is  time  I  had  my  piquet,"  objected  the  Dowager, 
who  never  forgot  her  game.  She  had  taken  the  old  Baron^s 
place  as. Louisa's  partner,  and  somehow  considered  the  contin- 
uation of  this  time-honored  institution  as  an  almost  religious 
tribute  to  her  lord. 

Under  the  reproachful  wonder  of  her  two  companions, 
Ursula  began  to  remember  with  increasing  clearness  that  her 
impression  of  Theodore  van  Helmont  had  been  decidedly  un- 
favorable. She  had  not  been  able  to  understand  her  husband's 
admiration ;  but  then.  Otto  and  she  so  seldom  sympathized. 
She  remembered  a  grave  young  man,  an  awkward  man,  one  of 
those  irritating  people  who  w^ere  always  judging  themselves, 
and  had  a  logical  reason  for  everything  they  did.  There  are 
people  who  constantly  seem  to  be  standing  aside  to  look  them- 
selves down,  superciliously,  from  head  to  foot.  She  wished 
more  than  ever  that  she  had  not  sent  her  telegram.  But,  un- 
fortunately for  most  of  us,  it  is  easy  to  say  "  Come,"  and  im- 
possible to  say  "  Don't." 

The  only  time  she  had  met  this  cousin  was  on  the  occasion 
of  those  Christmas  festivities,  when  the  house  was  full  of 
guests.  It  was  a  time  on  which  she  could  not  bear  to  dwell. 
For  it  was  then  that  Gerard — 

She   stopped   suddenly  when    the   thought  of  all  this  first 


THE    OLD    BLOT  311 

rushed  back  upon  her.  Since  her  illness  it  seemed  as  if  the 
past  had  been  locked  away  in  a  cupboard  with  many  partitions, 
where  its  several  incidents  lay,  not  forgotten,  but  unrecalled. 
One  by  one,  at  the  touch  of  Chance,  the  various  doors  flew 
open,  and  some  memory,  sweet  or  painful,  would  leap  forth 
from  a  seeming  nowhere  into  the  light. 

She  was  out  in  the  wood,  on  the  windy  March  day,  with 
Monk  by  her  side,  and  all  around  her  the  black  tree-trunks 
streaked  the  sullen  sky.  She  realized  that  she  was  close  to 
the  spot  where,  on  that  Christmas  Eve  two  years  ago,  she  had 
sunk  to  the  ground  in  the  snow — the  spot  where  Gerard  had 
afterwards  found  her  glove. 

AVhy  had  Gerard  fought  that  frantic  duel?  Otto  had  said 
that  nobody  fought  duels  but  desperadoes.  And  certainly,  as 
far  as  Holland  was  concerned.  Otto  must  be  accounted  right. 

Still,  in  this  matter  he  had  judged  his  brother  harshly. 
Ursula  believed  that  the  duel  had  been  fought  in  defence  of 
the  national  flag,  and  she  felt  that,  had  she  been  a  soldier,  she 
would  have  done  the  same. 

Not  in  this  matter  only  had  Otto  wronged  a  nature  he  could 
not  understand.  Gerard,  as  their  mother  had  said,  was  a  sun- 
beam, genially  playing  from  flower  to  flower.  He  was  a  fire- 
brand newly  lighted,  that  fizzes  and  crackles  in  its  youth,  before 
settling  down  to  a  steady  glow.  Now  that  he  was  away  in 
Acheen  his  good  qualities  seemed  all  to  stand  out  against  the 
background  of  the  home  that  had  lost  him.  She  had  known 
him  all  her  life ;  all  during  her  long  childhood,  her  long  girl- 
hood, he  had  been  her  playmate,  her  companion — more  than 
that,  the  bright  Phcebus  of  her  modest  horizon,  her  Prince — 
in  his  uniqueness  —  of  Cavaliers.  Everything  around  her,  in 
the  Manor-house,  in  the  neighborhood,  was  connected  with 
memories  of  joint  pastimes  and  pranks.  Ever  since  she  could 
toddle  she  had  been  very  fond  of  Gerard,  with  the  tranquil 
affection  of  practised  chums.  But  now  he  had  fairly  forgotten 
her.  In  his  frequent  letters  to  his  mother — letters  full  of  ten- 
derness and  rose-color — he  never  even  sent  a  token  of  remem- 
brance. Stop — there  had  been  that  message  the  Baroness  had 
declined  to  give  in  the  first  letter  after  their  common  bereave- 


SI 2  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

ment.  Perhaps  there  had  been  more.  Ursula  did  not  think  so, 
for  the  Dowager  gradually  communicated  her  darling's  epistles 
to  every  one,  repeating  and  rereading  them  in  scraps.  Had  she 
not  immediately  let  slip  the  very  message  in  question — "  Gerard 
says  he  would  have  sold  the  place  in  any  case,  so  where's  the 
difference  ?" 

Ursula  sighed.  Yes,  after  all.  Otto  was  right.  It  couldn't  be 
helped.  Gerard's  letters  never  spoke  of  danger,  but,  through 
others,  news  had  reached  Horstwyk  that  the  Jonker  had,  on 
several  occasions,  greatly  distinguished  himself.  By-and-by  he 
would  come  back,  "  range,"  and  marry — marry  a  little  money, 
and  then — 

Then  her  task  would  be  done. 

Meditating  thus,  she  reached  the  very  spot  which  she  had  de- 
termined to  avoid.  A  blackbird  broke  in,  almost  fiercely,  upon 
her  reverie,  and  she  looked  around.  In  an  instant  there  rose  up 
before  her  the  meeting  by  the  Manor-house  on  that  Christmas 
morning,  and  again  she  heard  Gerard's  voice  saying,  as  he  bent 
over  an  old  brown  glove,  *'  I  want  you  to  let  me  keep  this.  It 
will  be  the  most  precious  thing  I  shall  ever  possess." 

The  whistling  wind  struck  her  hot  cheeks ;  the  great  dog  be- 
side her  leaped  up,  nose  foremost,  with  vague,  mute  sympathy. 
She  rushed  away  from  the  horrible  place,  tearing  her  crape  in 
unmindful  haste,  hurrying  to  the  open,  the  boundless  heath, 
where  the  whole  air  was  in  a  ferment  of  conflicting  currents, 
that  caught  her  and  buffeted  her,  and  flung  her  hither  and 
thither  amid  a  chorus  of  moans  and  sobbings,  barks,  laughter, 
and  shrieks. 

When  at  last  she  paused  for  breath,  in  a  lull,  she  saw  that  she 
was  not  far  from  Klomp's  cottage.  So  she  got  under  cover  of 
the  trees  again,  and  directed  her  footsteps  to  the  little  tumble- 
down house.  She  had  a  weakness  for  Klomp.  He  was  so  sig- 
nally "  undeserving." 

By  the  door  leaned  Adeline,  and  at  a  glance  each  woman 
understood  that  the  other  had  recognized  her. 

"  Klomp,  here's  the  Baroness !"  cried  Mejuffrouw  Skiff,  re- 
treating a  little  before  the  suddenness  of  an  encounter  she  had 
hitherto  vainly  sought. 


THE    OLD    BLOT  313 

"  Wish  her  Nobleness  a  very  good  day  for  me,"  replied  an 
uncertain  voice  from  dingy  depths  unknown. 

"  Poor  man,  he's  asleep,"  said  Adeline,  boldly.  "  Was  it 
anything  particular  you  wanted  with  him,  Mevrouw  ?" 

Ursula  smiled.  "  No,  indeed,"  she  said.  "  On  no  account 
would  I  disturb  his  well-earned  rest." 

"  Well-earned  it  is,"  retorted  Adeline,  pertly.  "  His  younger 
daughter's  ill,  and  he's  been  sitting  up  with  her  all  night." 

Ursula's  manner  changed.  "  Mietje  ?  I  am  sorry  to  hear 
that.     Can  I  see  her  ?     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Nothing  much,  I  fancy.  You  needn't 
know  what,  I  suppose,  as  long  as  you  send  the  regulation 
broth." 

Ursula  turned  away,  almost  eagerly.  That  she  should  meet 
this  woman  now !  She  had  lost  sight  of  her  and  her  story, 
gladly,  for  years. 

"  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  me,  madame,"  said  Adeline, 
acidly.     She  had  noticed  the  quick  movement  of  aversion. 

*'0h  yes,  I  remember  you,"  replied  Ursula,  standing  still. 
"  But  certainly  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  here." 

"  Yet  what  is  more  natural,  Mevrouw  the  Baroness  van  Hel- 
mont,  than  that  I  should  come  to  have  a  look  at  my  rela- 
tions." 

"  I  did  not  know  the  Klomps  were  any  relations  of  yours." 

"  I  did  not  mean  the  Klomps." 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Well,"  said  Ursula,  in  measured  tones,  "  I  hope  you  are 
doing  better  than  you  were.     Good-morning." 

But  again  Adeline  stopped  her.  "  I  am  not  doing  well  at  all. 
As  your  Nobleness  so  kindly  takes  an  interest  in  my  career,  I 
should  like  to  explain  my  position,  if  your  Nobleness  would 
deign  to  listen." 

Suddenly  the  dog,  Monk,  who  had  been  suspiciously  watch- 
ing the  frowzy  stranger,  broke  into  a  fury  of  disparagement 
which  no  commands  from  hie  mistress  could  quell.  Adeline 
was  horribly  frightened.  With  a  very  cowed  manner  she  re- 
treated behind  the  door,  but  she  shrieked  from  that  place  of 
safety  that  the  matter  was  one  of  the  greatest  importance. 


314  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Ursula,  having  compelled  the  growling  dog's  obedience,  with 
one  firm  hand  on  his  collar,  called  to  the  poor  soul  to  come 
forth  again. 

"  Say  your  say,"  she  decreed,  "  and  have  done." 

"  It's  only  this,"  whined  Adeline,  on  the  door-step :  "  I'm 
destitute,  deserted  with  my  child,  not  knowing  where  to  turn, 
and  I'm  Gerard  Helmont's  wife." 

She  had  calculated  her  foolish  "  coup ;"  she  was  aware  that  a 
wide  gulf  yawned  between  Ursula  and  possible  denial  from 
Gerard. 

"So  it's  I,"  she  added,  quickly,  ''  who  am  the  Baroness  van 
Helmont,  though  not  of  the  Horst — you  know  why  ;  and  all  I 
ask  is  a  few  hundred  florins  and  to  let  me  go  in  peace." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  queried  Ursula,  "  that  you  claim  to 
be  Gerard  van  Helmont's  legal  wife  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  it  was  you  that  wanted  him  to  marry  me,  so,  in 
part,  the  fault  is  yours,"  responded  Adeline,  who  enjoyed  lies 
for  the  mere  telling,  even  when  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained. 
"Therefore,  give  me  a  generous  sum  for  Gerard's  child,  and  let 
me  go.  Why,  everything  ought  to  be  his,  the  young  Baron's — all 
the  wealth  and  magnificence  that  you've  got  hold  of,  nobody 
knows  how." 

And  Adeline  began  to  cry  real  drops.  Men  cannot  yet  manu- 
facture genuine  diamonds.     Women  can. 

But,  notwithstanding  her  weeping,  there  was  much  spite,  and 
even  a  little  menace,  in  her  tone. 

"Down,  Monk,  down!"  said  Ursula.  "I  shall  not  ask  you 
for  further  proof  of  your  story,  simply  because  I  know  it  is 
not  true.  I  wish  it  were.  I  am  fully  conscious  that  you  have 
a  claim  to  be  what  you  say  you  are  and  are  not.  Could  I 
help  you  to  obtain  its  recognition  I  would  do  so  ;  but  other- 
wise I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  I  have  no  money,  and  there- 
fore can  give  you  none.  In  a  couple  of  years  perhaps  there 
will  be  more  at  my  disposal,  and  then,  if  things  remain  un- 
changed, you  may  write  to  me,  and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for 
your  boy.  That  is  all.  Now  you  had  better  go  away  from 
here.     Have  you  understood  me  ?" 

"  Give  me  twenty-five  florins,"  said  Adeline. 


THE    OLD    BLOT  315 

Ursula  drew  the  straining  dog  towards  her,  and  passed  down 
the  narrow  path.     Half-way  she  hesitated. 

"Oh,  keep  straight!"  she  burst  out,  pleadingly;  "keep 
straight,  for  the  child's  sake.  I'll  send  you  the  twenty-five 
florins,  if  you  want  them.  Let  me  have  your  address  in  Drum, 
and  I'll  try  to  find  you  decent  work.  Oh,  be  an  honest  girl,  for 
the  love  of  God !" 

"  Send  me  the  twenty-five  florins,"  said  Adeline. 

Ursula  crept  back  into  the  wood ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Oh,  Gerard,  Gerard  !"  she  said ;  "  this  is  your  work.  God 
forgive  you  for  deserting  her.     No  pure-hearted  woman  can." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
THE      COUNSELLOR 

As  she  emerged  into  the  avenue  Ursula  noticed  a  figure  in 
front  of  her  which  she  immediately  recognized.  It  was  walk- 
ing at  a  deliberate  pace,  a  valise  and  an  overcoat  thrown  over 
one  arm.  The  dog  gave  the  alarm,  and  the  figure  looked 
round. 

"Why  did  you  not  telegraph  for  the  carriage?"  thought 
Ursula. 

The  young  man  waited ;  his  fresh-colored  face  shone  out  in 
the  all-pervading  gloom. 

Ursula  wondered,  as  she  drew  nearer,  what  deliverance  she 
expected  from  this  pink-eyed  little  innocent.  He  looked  like  a 
solemn  peach.  How  could  she  broach  her  unusual  subject? 
Visible  shyness  was  not  one  of  her  qualities ;  but  she  smiled 
rather  foolishly  as  she  walked,  thought  Theodore  Helmont,  and, 
for  so  recent  a  widow,  improperly. 

"  You  have  come  up  on  foot  from  the  station  ?"  she  cried. 
"  I  wish  we  had  known.     Why  didn't  you  telegraph  ?" 

"  Telegrams  are  expensive,"  replied  the  young  man. 

This  sounded  promising. 

"  I  only  got  my  leave  this  morning,"  he  continued.  "  I 
couldn't  let  you  know,  so  I  simply  came." 

"  Ah,  you  had  to  get  leave  ?"  said  Ursula,  her  conscience 
smiting  her. 

"Yes;  government  oflBcials  always  must.  Most  people  must 
who  work  for  their  bread.     I  am  a  post-office  clerk." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  answered  Ursula,  hastily.  "  Of  course  I 
know.  Cousin  Helmont.  Please  put  down  your  bag ;  it  will  be 
quite  safe.     I  will  send  one  of  the  laborers  to  fetch  it." 


THE    COUNSELLOR  3l7 

"I  can  easily  carry  it  myself,"  he  said,  more  courteously  ;  "  I 
always  do."  And,  although  this  time  he  said  nothing  about 
expenditure,  she  felt  that  he  considered  the  tip. 

After  that  the  conversation  lagged.  Presently  the  young 
man  said,  with  much  timidity : 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  should  greatly  like,  if  you  would  be  so 
very  kind.  My  mother  is  exceedingly  anxious  about  railway 
travelling  of  any  sort,  and  she  made  me  promise  to  let  her  know 
at  once  of  my  safe  arrival.  They  couldn't  telegraph  at  the  sta- 
tion. Would  there  be  a  possibility,  perhaps,  of  forwarding  a 
message  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Ursula,  demurely.  "  But — you  know 
— telegrams  are  expensive." 

Theodore's  pure  eyes  grew  troubled. 

*'  The  matter  is  altogether  different,"  he  said.  '*  Perhaps,  if 
you  will  allow  me  to  explain — " 

Ursula  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  do  you  take  me  for  ? 
Of  course,  I  perfectly  understand.  The  boy  shall  get  ready  at 
once." 

Theodore  looked  straight  in  front  of  him. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say,"  he  went  on,  doggedly,  "  that  my 
mother's  anxiety  is  not  irrational.  She  is  quite  unaccustomed 
to  travelling  herself,  and  we  have  never  been  parted  before." 

Ursula  stood  still  on  the  Manor-house  steps.  "  Never  been 
parted  before !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Woe  is  me,  what  have  I 
done  ?" 

Theodore  blushed  in  fresh  waves  of  crimson.  "  Now  you 
are  laughing  at  me,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  distinctly  an- 
noyed. "  You  mustn't  laugh  at  me.  I  am  not  at  all  accus- 
tomed to  the  society  of  ladies,  and  if  you  laugh  at  me  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  get  on." 

"  No — no,  I  really  meant  it,"  Ursula  hastened  to  say.  "  I 
honestly  fear  I  have  been  exceedingly  inconsiderate.  I  wish 
that  your  mother  had  accompanied  you."  ("  Oh  dear,  no,"  she 
reflected  ;  "  there  the  expense  comes  in  again  I")  "  But  you 
must  not  say  you  are  unaccustomed  to  the  society  of  ladies — " 

"  My  mother  is  not  a  lady  like  you,"  he  remarked,  quickly. 


318  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I  am  Ursula  Rovers,"  she  replied — "  the  pastor's  daughter. 
I  remember  Mevrouw  van  Helmont  very  well." 

In  the  solitude  of  her  dressing-room  she  wondered  what 
would  be  the  next  development  of  her  devotion  to  Otto's  mem- 
ory, and  chid  herself  for  the  ungracious  thought.  Then  she 
went  down  to  luncheon,  expecting  to  find  her  guest  in  a  corner 
of  the  library  turning  over  picture-books.  That  was  the  only 
pose  in  which  his  former  visit  had  left  him  photographed  on 
her  brain. 

To  her  astonishment,  she  heard  him  in  earnest  discussion 
with  Aunt  Louisa.  "  My  dear  Ursula,"  cried  the  latter  lady, 
running  forward,  "  your  cousin  Van  Helmont  is  a  most  interest- 
ing young  man.  I  have  been  telling  him  about  European  man- 
ners, and  he  most  sagaciously  remarks  that  the  best  of  man- 
ners is  to  have  none.     How  delightfully  true  !" 

The  subject  of  this  outspoken  eulogy  did  not  seem  at  all 
abashed  by  it ;  probably  he  was  accustomed  to  his  mother's  esti- 
mation of  her  only  son. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  calmly  protested  ;  ''  I  was  saying  that  I  had 
read  that  observation  somewhere.  I  am  not  prepared  to  main- 
tain that  it  is  absolutely  correct." 

*'  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  whose  it  is,"  cried  the  Freule. 
"  Everything  we  say  must  have  had  its  origin  with  some  one, 
so  everything  is  really  original.  Now  that  never  struck  me  be- 
fore.    How  new  !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Ursula.     "  Will  you  have  a  rissole  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear.  One  more,  please.  Thank  you.  Per- 
sonally, what  I  most  reprobate  is  the  walking  in  line,  like  ducks. 
'  Do  as  others  do.'  The  Bible  says,  '  Do  as  you  would  be  done 
by ' — a  very  different  thing.  I  hope,  Mynhfeer  Helmont,  that 
you  are  unconventional,  as  I  know  your  father  was." 

"  I  do  not  remember  my  father  well,"  answered  Theodore, 
pondering  whether  he  could  not  get  away  that  night. 

"  Oh,  I  never  met  him,"  said  Louisa,  just  as  the  old  Baroness 
entered.  The  poor  old  lady,  who  would  have  said  *  J'ai  failli 
attendre'  in  palmier  days,  now  accorded  all  precedence  to  her 
literary  labors. 


THE    COUNSELLOR  319 

*'  My  dear,"  continued  the  Freule,  addressing  her,  "  this 
young  man  is  exceedingly  interesting.  I  had  forgotten  him, 
but  now  I  remember  I  thought  so  the  last  time  he  was  here. 
The  best  thing  is  to  have  no  manners.  Now  doesn't  he  put 
that  well  ?" 

"  I  dare  say  he  finds  it  convenient,"  responded  the  Dowager. 
"  How  do  you  do.  Mynheer  Helmont  ?  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you.     I  wish  you  would  tell  me  when  your  father  died  ?" 

"  It  is  seventeen  years  ago,"  replied  Helmont,  wonderingly. 

"  Quite  impossible.     I  feel  sure  you  are  more  than  sixteen." 

"  I  am  twenty-four,  but — " 

"  Mamma  means  *  married,'  I  believe,"  suggested  Ursula, 
gently. 

" '  Married,'  that  was  what  I  said,"  declared  the  Dowager, 
sharply.  "  Ursula,  my  soup  is  cold  again.  Manners  or  no  man- 
ners, young  man,  you  shouldn't  make  fun  of  a  woman  old 
enough  to  be  your  grandmother." 

"  I  disapprove  of  such  early  marriages  !"  exclaimed  the  Freule. 
Ursula's  eyes  and  Theodore's  met.  She  burst  out  laughing, 
but  he  looked  uncomfortably  grave.  **  After  luncheon,"  she 
said,  "  I  must  take  you  round.  Mynheer  Helmont.  It  is  no  use 
showing  you  the  stables ;  we  have  only  three  horses  left,  and 
they  are  of  the  kind  that  would  better  do  their  work  unseen." 

He  followed  her  obediently  when  they  rose  from  table,  and 
she  pretended  to  take  an  interest  in  the  small  sights  she  had  to 
offer  her  guest.  The  same  can  hardly  be  asserted  of  Theodore. 
He  was  painfully  silent  while  she  "  made  conversation,"  won- 
dering all  the  time  in  what  way  she  should  broach  the  one  sub- 
ject she  cared  to  speak  about. 

In  this,  however,  he  hastened  to  her  assistance,  for  his  pa- 
tience came  to  an  end,  while  hers  still  hung  on  a  thread.  They 
were  standing  in  the  palm-house,  when  he  suddenly  looked  up 
at  her — he  had  some  little  height  to  look  up — and  asked, 

"  What  did  you  want  me  for,  please  ?" 

She  had  been  laughing  about  some  of  the  gardener's  queer 
names  for  the  roses ;  her  voice  suddenly  changed,  and  every- 
thing but  pain  died  out  of  it. 

"  I  believe  we  are  ruined,"  she  said,  facing  him,  "  and  Otto 


320  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

made  me  promise,  if  ever  1  wanted  advice,  I  would  appeal  to 
you." 

He  seemed  still  to  listen,  plucking  at  the  nearest  leaves,  for 
a  moment  after  she  had  finished.  Then  he  said,  as  if  speaking 
to  himself, 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad,  at  any  rate,  that  1  didn't  ask  a  holiday 
for  nothing  at  all."  He  glanced  up  at  her  anxious  face.  "Hol- 
idays are  very  rare  with  us,  you  know,"  he  added,  apologeti- 
cally.    "  1  couldn't  soon  get  leave  again." 

"  Yet  I  don't  suppose  you  can  help  us,"  continued  Ursula, 
relentlessly.     "  Nobody  can." 

"  When  people  get  down  as  low  as  that,"  replied  the  young 
clerk,  frigidly,  "  they  can  usually  help  themselves.  I  presume 
that,  however  much  money  you  may  happen  to  possess,  you 
want  more.  That,  I  believe,  is  what  people  of  your  class  call 
'  being  ruined.' " 

She  felt  that  he  wronged  her  the  more  by  this  constant  dis- 
tinction, after  what  she  had  said  on  the  Manor-house  steps. 
"  I  possess  no  money  at  all,"  she  said,  wroth  with  herself  for 
the  helpless  confession.  "  And  in  about  a  week's  time  I  must 
have  three  thousand  florins." 

"In  other  words,"  he  answered,  with  an  angry  wave  of  his 
short  arm  round  the  greenhouse,  "  you  must  spend  thirty  thou- 
sand florins  with  an  income  of  twenty -seven.  Other  people 
have  an  income  of  one  thousand,  and  spent  that.'''' 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  not  that.  We  will  say  no  more 
about  it.     Come,  let  us  walk  on." 

"  Pardon  me.  It  takes  one  person  to  start  a  subject,  but  two 
to  drop  it.     Will  you  permit  me  to  express  myself  plainly  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly.  Dear  me.  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  I  had  un- 
derstood you  to  say  you  were  shy  ?" 

"  Again  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  can  understand  fun,  and  I  can 
understand  earnest ;  but  which  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"I  apprehend  you.  You  do  not  recognize  humor  outside 
the  comic  papers.  You  are  like  my  father.  /  laugh  most  at 
the  dentist's.     It  is  to  be  earnest,  please." 

"  The  house  is  crowded  with  treasures.     Sell  one  or  two." 

"  I  cannot ;  they  belong  to  my  mother-in-law." 


THE    COUNSELLOR  321 

"Do  away  with  a  carriage  you  can't  pay  for,  and  go  on 
foot." 

"  I  cannot.  I  keep  a  sort  of  boarding-house,  and  my  two 
boarders  pay  for  the  carriage,  not  I." 

"  Eat  dry  bread  instead  of  hot  hinch." 

"  And  drive  away  the  boarders !  There,  you  see,  I  answer 
plainly,  too.  Do  you  really  imagine  that  if  I  could  have 
solved  my  difficulties  by  merely  eating  dry  bread  I  would  have 
troubled  you,  a  comparative  stranger,  to  come  all  the  way  from 
Bois-le-Duc?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  women  of  '93  could  be  guillotined,  and 
willing,  but  they  couldn't  eat  dry  bread." 

However,  his  tone  was  gentler,  and  his  manner  less  assured. 

"Now  will  you  let  me,  as  we  return  to  the  house,  explain 
how  matters  really  stand  ?"  she  said.  He  nodded  silently,  and 
under  the  bare,  sky-piercing  oaks  she  softly  told  him  the  long 
story  of  her  father-in-law's  slow  purchase  and  last  testament,  of 
Otto's  life-work  and  dying  charge,  of  her  struggle  to  continue 
what  they  had  begun  in  expectation  of  better  times.  He  lis- 
tened, his  boy-face  puckered  up. 

"  It  is  your  name,  too,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  "  your  race, 
your  blood."     And  she  measured  the  little  plebeian  beside  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  There  it  lies.  And  each  rood  that  belonged  to  a  Van  Hel- 
mont  four  hundred  years  ago  belongs  to  a  Van  Helmont  now." 

"  It  belongs  to  yow,"  he  replied,  quickly.    "  And  afterwards  ?" 

She  faltered. 

"  It  will  never  pass  from  my  keeping  till  it  passes  to  a  Van 
Helmont,"  she  said,  "  so  help  me  God  !" 

In  that  moment  even  he  could  not  press  the  point. 

"  You  must  give  me  time,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  three  days' 
leave.  Do  not  let  us  mention  the  subject  again  till  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  Meantime,  I  will  have  a  look  round  and  try  to 
discover  if  you  can  keep  on,  supposing  the  three  thousand  are 
found." 

"  Thank  you.  But  do  you  know  about  land  ?"  She  was 
just  a  little  bit  piqued.  "  I  assure  you  I  am  very  slowly  learn- 
ing." 

21 


322  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

**  Oh,  I  know.  My  mother  is  a  farmer's  daughter.  I  have 
always  been  about  with  my  uncle.  If  mother  had  given  me  my 
choice,  I  should  have  been  a  common  farmer  myself." 

"A  Van  Helmont!" 

"  Pooh !     That's  what  mother  said  !" 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE     NEW     BAILIFF 

As  ill-luck  would  have  it,  Helena  wrote  to  announce  her  visit 
for  the  last  evening  of  Theodore's  stay  at  the  Manor  -  house. 
She  arrived  before  dinner,  bringing  the  unwilling  Willie  along 
with  her. 

An  almost  oppressive  quiet  had  reigned  in  the  mansion,  only 
rarely  disturbed  by  the  deep  voice  of  Monk.  The  guest  had 
spent  most  of  his  time  out-of-doors,  returning  occasionally  to 
closet  himself  with  great  memoranda  and  account  books.  Tante 
Louisa  complained  bitterly  that  she  got  next  to  nothing  of  his 
interesting  conversation ;  Ursula  anxiously  fought  shy  of  him  ; 
the  Dowager,  unexpectedly  meeting  him  in  the  hall,  asked  her 
confidante^  the  cook,  who  he  was. 

"  I  shall  stir  them  all  up  a  bit,"  said  Helena  to  her  husband 
in  the  carriage.  "  I  have  seen  them  already  once  or  twice  since 
the  event,  and  you  can't  go  on  looking  lugubrious  forever. 
Besides,  I  don't  believe  Ursula  is  inconsolable.  I  shall  ask 
her." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  Willie. 

"  Willie,  don't  *  put  my  back  up,'  or  you'll  make  me  do  an 
unlady-like  thing." 

"  You  won't  ask  her,  because  you  can't.  I'd  bet  you  a  gold 
piece  that  you  wouldn't  dare." 

"You  wouldn't  like  me  to  dare."  Helena's  eyes  strayed 
away  through  the  carriage  window. 

"  Indeed  I  should.  I  like  pluck  of  any  kind.  In  a  horse,  or 
a  woman,  or  a  dog." 

"  Only  not  in  a  man  !"  exclaimed  Helena,  a  little  bitterly. 

"In  a  man  it  goes  without  saying.     By-the-bye,  what  atro- 


324  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

cious  brutes  these  horses  of  Ursula's  are.  I've  an  idea,  Nellie, 
that  she's  very  badly  off." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  her  to  console  herself.  A  poor 
widow  remarries  much  sooner  than  a  rich  one,  and  with  far  less 
opportunity." 

'*'Tisn't  said  that  she'd  better  herself.  If  she  marries  she 
ought  to  marry  Gerard.     It  would  be  her  bounden  duty." 

**  Thank  you,  for  Gerard's  sake,"  retorted  Helena,  now  very 
bitterly  indeed.  And  they  lapsed  into  silence.  Was  there 
really  any  prospect  of  Ursula's  marrying  Gerard  ?  It  was  this 
question  which  had  long  held  Nellie  van  Troyen's  heart  as  in 
a  vise,  pinching  it  and  torturing  it,  and  refusing  to  let  it  rest. 
It  was  this  question  which  now  hunted  her  to  the  Horst.  She 
was  determined  to  see  with  her  own  eyes  how  matters  stood. 
"  I  shall  find  out,"  she  told  herself.  "  I  must,  even  if  I  have 
to  ask  her.  To  think  of  Willie's  trumpery  gold  piece !  It  is 
horrible,  all  the  suffering.  But  my  life  is  a  beautiful  romance." 
She  smiled,  and  reflectively  arranged  her  dress.  "  You  like 
me,  you  know,  Willie,"  she  said,  "  in  pink." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  though  I  don't  know  why.  Blue  suits 
your  fair  complexion  better.  But,  somehow,  I  can't  bear  to  see 
you  in  blue." 

"  I  know  why.  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  It  is  because  you  have 
some  delightful  memories  connected  with  a  creature  in  blue." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  he  said,  quite  coolly.  "  It  is  because  I 
have  some  detestable  memories  connected  with  a  creature  in 
blue." 

"  Oh,  '  delightful,'  '  detestable,'  that  is  all  one  in  such  cases. 
So  you  see,  I  was  right.     Here  we  are." 

"  Well,  shall  we  wager  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  helped  her  to 
alight. 

"  If  you  like.  But  you  are  pretty  sure  of  your  gold  piece, 
for  I  certainly  shall  not  trouble  her  unless  she  drives  me  to  it." 

"  So  much  the  better.     Don't  dare,  and  pay  me." 

"  Willie,  I  believe  you  would  sell  your  soul  for  money,"  she 
cried. 

He  laughed. 

"  No,  no,  not  his  soul,"  she  said  to  herself,  half  aloud,  as  she- 


THE    NEW    BAILIFF  325 

climbed  the  great  stone  steps.    "  Only  his  body — only  all  he's 
got  to  sell !" 

The  Dowager  came  forward  to  meet  her  niece,  who  had 
always  been  a  favorite  with  the  old  lady,  and  the  only  possi- 
ble successor  she  could  consider  with  equanimity.  "  My  dear, 
I  am  so  glad  you  are  come,'*  she  said,  with  a  return  of  her  van- 
ished sprightliness.  *'  Your  visits  are  like  those  of  the  angels. 
And  the  house  is  so  dull.  Though  certainly,  at  this  moment, 
we  have  a  guest." 

"  A  guest  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  is  Ursula's  guest.  One  of  the — the  other  Helmonts, 
that  nobody  ever  used  to  see.  But  these  are  the  days  of  the 
bend  sinister.     We  have  fallen  on  evil  times." 

Helena  stood  taking  off  her  wraps,  the  little  old  lady  help- 
ing her.  "  My  dear,"  began  the  latter,  somewhat  tremulously, 
"  I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  kindness.  I  want  you  to  come  and 
stay  with  with  us  for  a  few  days,  and  I  will  read  you  what  I 
have  written  about  the  good  old  past.  I  read  it  to  Ursula,  but 
she  does  not  know  what  it  is  all  about.  She  is  not  one  of  us; 
it  will  interest  you.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  it  about  your 
mother." 

"  Yes  ?"  said  Helena.    "  Is  it  ready,  aunt  ?" 

"  Ready,  my  dear  ?  Oh  dear  no ;  how  could  it  be  ready  ?  But 
I  can  show  you  what  I  have  done.  Do  you  know,  I  begin  to 
fear  it  will  never  be  ready  !" — the  Dowager's  voice  nearly  failed 
her.  "To  give  me  plenty  of  time  to  write  the  memoir,  your 
uncle  ought  to  have  died  a  great  many  years  ago."  Then, 
vaguely  realizing  that  she  had  incorrectly  expressed  her  mean- 
ing, she  began  to  cry  with  unmistakable  persistence. 

"  Hush,  hush !"  exclaimed  Helena,  in  her  most  impulsive 
tones.  "Auntie,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come;  we  will  talk 
over  the  old  days,  as  you  say,  and  all  the  fun  I  used  to  have 
with  Gerard.  But  would  you  not  rather  pay  us  a  visit?"  She 
drew  the  little  lady's  arm  through  her  own.  "  I  am  so  sorry. 
This  is  very  hard  for  you — and  for  Gerard — this  about  Ursula." 

"  My  dear,  I  thank  you,  but  I  cannot." 

The  Dowager  nestled  confidentially  against   the  silver-pink 


326  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

sleeve  of  the  fair  creature  beside  her.  They  cooed  qver  each 
other  like  a  pair  of  high-bred  doves.  "  I  dare  not  leave  the 
house  for  a  single  night.  I  have  an  idea  that  something  would 
happen  if  I  did.  I  am  the  last  of  us  all,  and  I  am  set  here  to 
watch.  When  Gerard  comes  back —  Helena,  you  do  not  think, 
do  you,  that  they  will  really  leave  it  to  her  forever  ?" 

"  Poor  auntie !"  said  Helena,  softly  stroking  the  transparent 
cheek.     "  Poor  auntie  !" 

"  What  I  cannot  understand  is  that  h^  doesn't  come  and 
take  it  away  from  her !"  cried  the  Dowager,  with  sudden  en- 
ergy. "  I  wrote  to  him  to  do  so.  Gerard  never  was  a  coward. 
But  I  fear  that  Louisa's  explanation  is  correct." 

"  What  is  Freule  Louisa's  explanation  ?"  questioned  Helena, 
quickly. 

"  She  says  that  Gerard  is  in  love  with  Ursula,  and  always 
has  been.  She  says  that  that  is  why  he  went  to  India.  If 
what  she  says  is  true,  then  Ursula  has  robbed  me  of  both  my 
sons."  And  again  the  poor,  forlorn  old  woman  began  gently 
to  whimper. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  true,"  replied  Helena,  pensively.  "  Come, 
auntie,  let  us  sit  in  the  window-seat  and  talk  of  Gerard.  I  sup- 
pose he  will  be  coming  back  before  long." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  forget.  Oh,  Nellie,  you  don't  know  how 
dreadful  it  is  to  grow  old  and  forget.  I  can't  find  my  words 
sometimes,  though  I  take  care  that  nobody  notices  it.  I  feel 
that  it  would  never  do  for  Ursula  to  discover  that  I  have  not 
all  my  wits  about  me.  Who  knows  what  she  might  not  do  ? 
Sell  the  place,  perhaps  /"  —  her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper. 
"  Imagine  that !  Or  sell  some  of  your  uncle's  dear  art  treasures 
that  he  bade  me  keep.  She  doesn't  care  for  them,  I  know,  for 
she  never  seems  to  see  them  even.  I've  watched  her  constantly. 
Oh,  Nellie,  I'm  set  here  as  sentinel,  and — my  strength  is  failing." 

Helena  felt  that,  irrational  as  she  knew  the  feeling  to  be,  she 
could  not  but  think  ill  of  Ursula. 

"I  forgot  one  of  the  poor  children's  birthdays  last  week," 
wailed  the  Baroness — she  alluded  to  her  dead  infants  that  slept 
beneath  "  The  Devil's  Doll " — "  and  Ursula  didn't  remind  me 
to  take  any  flowers.     I  have  never  forgotten  before." 


THE    NEW    BAILIFF  327 

Ursula  entered  at  the  moment,  tall  and  straight  in  her  heavy 
gown.  To  both  the  gracefully  drooping  women,  whose  soft 
clothes  and  figures  intermingled  against  the  darkening  window, 
her  presence  at  that  moment  seemed  more  than  ever  an  insult. 

"  Shall  we  have  lights  ?"  she  said,  in  her  clear  voice. 

"  Oh,  in  the  drawing-room,  pray,"  replied  her  mother-in-law, 
pettishly.  "  Mynheer  van  Helmont  is  gone  in  there.  He  was 
looking  for  you." 

Ursula  withdrew  into  an  adjoining  apartment.  It  was  very 
large  and  lofty,  and  the  figures  on  its  tapestried  walls,  half  hid- 
den under  the  great  masses  of  shadow  now  clouding  around 
them,  peered  forth  in  vaguely  distorted  gloom.  Theodore  was 
pacing  the  parqueted  floor  with  moody  tramp.  He  came  for- 
ward at  once. 

"  I  want  you,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  *'  I  must  leave  to-night. 
So  we  may  as  well  have  our  talk  at  once." 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  she  answered.  "  I  did  not  wish  to  press 
you.     Will  half  an  hour  suflSce  ?" 

"Ten  minutes.  Everything  worth  saying  in  this  world  by 
one  human  being  to  another  can  be  said  in  ten  minutes.  But  I 
should  like  you  to  sit  down." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.     "  No,  not  an  easy-chair.     Thanks." 

"  I  have  looked  into  everything,  superficially,"  he  began,  re- 
suming his  march  in  the  dusk.  "  I  must,  in  the  first  place,  beg 
your  pardon  for  misjudging  you  all.  I  came  here  with  false 
impressions.  When  a  man  grows  up,  as  I  have  done,  in  the 
bourgeois  daily  fight  with  poverty,  he  is  apt  to  form  erroneous 
impressions  of  the  life  which  his  *  grand'  relations  lead,  espe- 
cially when  his  impressions  are  gained  by  hearsay.  I  beg  your 
.pardon." 

He  paused  for  a  moment ;  then,  as  she  did  not  answer,  he  con- 
tinued : 

"  In  the  second  place  I  want  to  express  my — my  admi — my 
recognition  of  the  way  in  which  you  have  carried  on  your  hus- 
band's work.  Few  women,  I  imagine,  would  have  taken  up 
such  a  load  or  borne  it  so  bravely.  I  didn't  like  your  sudden 
telegram.  I  thought  of  the  people  who  jump  into  the  water  and 
then  call  out  to  strangers  to  save  them.     There  !  that's  off  my 


328  MY    LADY     NOBODY 

mind.  I  am  not  good  at  compliments  or  excuses.  I've  no 
manners,  as  Freule  Louisa  says.  Now  to  business."  His  tone, 
which  had  been  agitated,  immediately  dropped  to  the  habitual 
growl  that  masked  his  shyness. 

"  He  reminds  you,"  Helena  had  said,  when  they  met  by  the 
Christmas-tree,  "  of  a  peach  with  a  wasp  inside." 

"  The  truth  is  as  you  stated,"  he  resumed  ;  "  nothing  but  hard 
work  can  keep  the  whole  thing  going.  A  forced  sale  would 
mean  ruin.  On  the  other  hand,  barring  such  extra  expenses  as 
death  duties,  you  ought,  with  rigid  economy,  to  pay  your  way." 
He  paused  for  a  moment.     "  With  rigid  economy,"  he  repeated. 

"  I  know,"  said  Ursula,  softly. 

"  There  is  nothing  so  hopeless  as  farming  without  capital — 
you  know  that  better  than  I  do.  But  the  cherry  orchards  pay, 
and  so,  especially,  do  the  osier  plantations.  Without  these  lat- 
ter you  could  hardly  get  on.  You  have  good  tenants,  on  the 
whole.     One  of  them,  however,  will  have  to  go." 

"  I  know,"  said  Ursula  again,  in  the  same  tone,  through  the 
darkness ;  "  but  he  can't." 

"  He  must.  I  see  we  understand  each  other — the  home-farm 
man — your  sort  of  agent.  I  don't  say  he  is  dishonest.  Otto 
seems  pretty  well  to  have  stopped  that — -but  he  is  expensive — 
you  can't  afford  him." 

"  I  cannot  make  cheese  myself,"  pleaded  Ursula,  a  little  help- 
lessly, for  her.  "  I  tried  once,  and  nobody  could  eat  it.  It — it 
didn't  stiffen." 

But  her  stern  adviser  vouchsafed  no  responsive  smile. 

"  It's  a  matter  of  life  or  death,"  he  said ;  "  the  work  that  fel- 
low does  must  be  done  by  another  man." 

"  But  where  would  you  find  a  better  ?" 

"  I  can't  find  a  better,  but  I  can  find  a  cheaper." 

"  Have  you  got  him  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  mean  myself.  Stop  a  minute — let  me  explain.  I 
told  you  I  had  always  wanted  to  be  a  farmer  " — his  voice  grew 
nervous  again.  "  I'm  sick  of  being  a  genteel  sort  of  manikin 
in  a  pot-hat.  I'm  especially  sick  of  the  post-ofl3ce.  I'm  going 
to  take  that  farm  and  work  it." 

"  But,  Mynheer  Helmont,  this  sudden  decision — " 


THE    NEW    BAILIFF  329 

"  It  isn't  a  sudden  decision.  It  took  twenty-four  hours  to 
come  to,  and  its  twenty -four  hours  old  already.  I've  announced 
it  to  my  mother."  He  again  made  a  pause,  away  at  the  farther, 
darkest  end.  "  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  don't  like  it,"  he  burst  out; 
"  I  didn't  expect  you  would.  But  it's  going  to  happen,  all  the 
same.  To  have  as  my  lady  Baroness's  close  neighbor  a  farmer 
bearing  her  name — " 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  that,"  she  interrupted  him.  "  For,  of 
course,  a  gentleman-farmer — " 

But  he  would  not  allow  her  to  proceed. 

"  A  gentleman  -  gammon  !"  he  cried,  still  out  of  the  distant 
darkness ;  "  a  common,  common  farmer.  Nothing  in  all  the 
world — not  even  drink — costs  half  as  much  as  gentility.  But, 
remember,  if  it  isn't  pleasant  for  you  people,  it's  a  hundred 
times  worse  for  my  mother  and — "  He  broke  off.  "  But  she'll 
do  it,"  he  lamely  concluded  the  sentence. 

Ursula  rose  and  came  up  the  big  room  to  look  for  him. 

*'  Sit  down,  please,"  he  said,  hastily  ;  "  I  haven't  done.  Please 
sit  down  till  I've  done.  Women  are  such  bad  listeners  !"  She 
obeyed,  knocking  the  chair  against  soniething  which  crashed  to 
the  floor.  "  I  hope  that  isn't  anything  expensive  !"  exclaimed 
Theodore,  emerging  from  his  corner.  His  tone  chid  her  as  if 
she  had  been  an  awkward  child. 

"It  didn't  sound  broken,"  replied  Ursula,  meekly ;  *'but  I 
suppose  you  object  to  my  getting  a  light  ?" 

For  only  answer  he  struck  a  match,  revealing  a  cloisonne  vase 
which  lay  in  a  pool  of  water  and  a  tangle  of  white  anemones 
upon  an  Oriental  rug.     The  match  flickered  out. 

"  That'll  keep,"  said  Theodore,  coolly.  "I  only  want  half  a 
minute  more.  There  is  still  one  point,  the  most  important. 
The  three  thousand  florins  we  require  next  week  will  be  found." 

"  But  how  ?"     Ursula's  voice  betrayed  her. 

"  Oh,  not  picked  up  on  the  high-road.  When  I  say  '  found,' 
of  course  I  mean  provided  and  paid  for.  /shall  provide  them. 
You  can  imagine  that,  poor  as  we  are,  we  do  not  live  on  my 
salary  only.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  possess  about  twenty-seven 
thousand  florins ;  I  have  looked  so  much  into  your  private  af- 
fairs that  I  suppose  you  have  a  right,  if  you  care,  to  know  some- 


330  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

thing  of  mine.  Three  thousand,  therefore,  I  will  advance,  if 
you  can  give  me  sufficient  security." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  cannot  do." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Freule  Louisa  mentioned  that 
you  still  had  a  valuable  diamond  brooch." 

Ursula  was  thankful  he  could  not  see  the  hot  flare  of  her  re- 
sentment. 

"And  do  you  think,"  she  said,  scornfully,  "that  I  would  not 
have  sold  that?  But  it  isn't  mine  to  sell.  It  is  an  heirloom. 
I  must  keep  it,  like  the  rest." 

"  It  is  legally  yours,"  he  replied,  "  and  therefore  you  must 
not  keep  it.  Besides,  I  trust  that  you  will  be  able  to  redeem  it 
in  the  slow  course  of  the  years.  All  ladies  like  diamonds.  I 
promise  to  take  good  care  of  yours.  Bring  the  thing  down  be- 
fore the  carriage  starts.  And  now  perhaps  I  had  better  ring 
for  somebody  with  a  cloth." 

"  Stop !"  she  cried ;  he  had  lighted  another  match  and  was 
looking  for  the  bell-rope.  "  Before  you  do  that  I  want  to 
say—" 

"  Don't.  I  really  do  not  think  there  is  anything  more  to  be 
said  just  now."     He  had  found  the  bell  and  pulled  it. 

"  But  I  do  not  want  to  do  this.     I  do  not  want — " 

"I  know  you  don't.  Did  not  I  tell  you  so?  However,  per- 
mit me  to  say  that  I  have  as  good  a  right  to  interfere  in  this 
matter  as  you.  I  am  quite  as  much  of  a  Ilelmont — even  a  good 
deal  more."  His  voice  rolled  out  like  the  threat  of  a  recoiling 
dog. 

A  female  servant  knocked  and  entered,  letting  in  a  flood  of 
light  from  the  hall.  She  gazed  with  decorous  astonishment  at 
the  occupants  of  the  room. 

"  Ursula,"  said  Willie,  coming  in  with  the  others,  "  is  it  true 
that  you  have  let  the  shooting  ?" 

"  No ;  that  was  not  one  of  my  crimes,"  replied  Ursula,  with  a 
petulant  laugh.  "  Otto  did  it  immediately  after  Gerard's  de- 
parture." Then  her  voice  softened.  "  I  believe  it  was  the  great- 
est sacrifice  he  ever  made.  You  know,  he  was  such  a  splendid 
shot." 


THE    NEW    BAILIFF  331 

"  He  was,"  assented  Willie,  with  that  solemn  admiration 
which  no  man  can  suppress. 

"  But,  Ursula,  I  remember  you  used  to  say  you  hated  '  splen- 
did shots'?"  suggested  Helena,  looking  back  over  the  arm 
which  still  supported  the  Dowager.  They  were  passing  in  to 
dinner.  Willie,  glancing  up,  saw  mischief  in  his  wife's  blue 
eye. 

"  They  are  better  than  stabs,"  answered  Ursula  ;  and  from  that 
moment  it  might  be  evident  to  any  one  that  these  two  women 
meant  war.  It  would  not,  however,  be  the  feminine  skirmish- 
ing of  intrigue  and  innuendo,  for  Helena,  as  we  know,  was  reck- 
less, and  Ursula  blunt. 

"  I  want  to  sit  next  to  poor  dear  auntie,"  said  Helena,  as  they 
took  their  places.  "  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  I  suppose  your 
habitual  seat  is  next  to  the  lady  of  the  house  ?  Are  you  going 
to  stay  here  long  ?" 

"I  have  no  habitual  seat,"  replied  Theodore,  awkwardly.  "  I 
leave  to-night.     I  am  only  a  three  days'  guest." 

"  Yes ;  no  one  of  your  name  could  be  anything  else  at  the 
Horst  now.  Not  even  the  head  of  the  house,  away  in  Acheen." 
She  smiled  sweetly  and  turned  to  the  Dowager. 

Theodore  was  mortally  afraid  of  this  fine  lady,  all  soft  text- 
ure and  vague  perfume,  like  a  rose.  But  he  found  conversation 
hardly  easier  with  Ursula,  in  spite  of  the  sullen  admiration  he 
unwillingly  accorded  her. 

"  Your  mother  will  be  glad  to  have  you  back,"  said  Ursula. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  he  replied,  fervently.  "  And  I  to  go — back," 
he  added,  blushing. 

"You  know,  it  was  impossible,"  Helena's  voice  rang  out  again. 
"  We  are  speaking  of  your  uncle  Mopius,  Ursula.  They  have 
had  to  withdraw  his  candidature.  He  is  a  very  good  sort  of 
man — oh,  very  good — but  he  is  not  what  Freule  Louisa  calls 
'  strong.'  Papa  tells  me  it  is  quite  impossible,  though  I'm  sure 
I  worked  hard  for  him — didn't  I,  Willie  ?  Your  uncle  says  it's 
all  your  doing,  Ursula.  He  was  very  rude  about  you  to  papa. 
I  had  to  stop  him,  and  remind  him  you  were  become  my  cousin 
by  marriage." 

"  Indeed,"  replied  Ursula. 


332  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Would  you  like  to  hear  what  he  said  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  I  care." 

"  Well,  as  we  are  quite  among  ourselves,  perhaps  it  is  better 
you  should  know.  He  said  that  your  elevation  had  turned  your 
head.  You  know,  Ursula,  he  is  rather,  rather — pardon  me  the 
word — vulgar !" 

She  had  spol?en  French.  The  servant,  by  the  sideboard,  rat- 
tled his  plates. 

"And  he  said  your  political  opinions  were  deplorable.  What 
are  your  political  opinions.  Mynheer  van  Helmont?" 

"  Deplorable,"  replied  Theodore,  with  a  ready  championship 
which  astonished  himself. 

"  Ah,  you  two  are  in  close  sympathy,  I  see.  So  much  the 
better."  She  dropped  her  voice.  "But  is  it  not  a  strange 
thought  to  you.  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  that  this  old  place  is 
now  certain  to  pass,  in  due  time,  to  Ursula's  children,  whatever 
their  name  may  happen  to  be  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Theodore  ;  "  it's  no  business  of  mine." 

"Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  angrily.  "The  Baron  van  Helmont 
thinks  differently,  no  doubt.  Why,  if  Ursula  has  some  seiz- 
ure to-night,  I  suppose  we  shall  soon  see  a  Lord  Mopius  of 
Horstwyk!  Fie,  Mynheer  van  Helmont,  this  poor  creature  at 
my  side  has  more  spirit  than  you." 

Ursula  could  not  avoid  hearing  enough  of  this  aside  to  un- 
derstand its  meaning.  She  felt  that  everybody  had  heard  it. 
Passionate  as  she  was,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  table-cloth. 
She  remained  conscious  that  Helena,  that  everybody,  even  while 
the  talk  went  on,  was  watching  her.  At  last  she  lifted  them — 
those  steadfast  brown  eyes. 

"  It  is  six  months  to  -  day,"  she  said,  "  exactly  six  months. 
Only  six  months  since  Otto  and  Baby  died."  And  she  rose 
from  the  table. 

"  Ursula,  you  have  forgotten  t-jip  dessert,"  cried  Aunt  Louisa, 
lingering. 

Ursula  turned  back. 

"  True,"  she  said.  "  I  beg  everybody's  pardon.  Won't  you 
try  some  of  mamma's  preserved  orange-leaves,  Helena?  You 
will  find  them  as  good  as  ever." 


THE    NEW    BAILIFF  333 

In  the  hall,  just  as  the  carriage  had  driven  up  which  was  to 
convey  the  three  visitors  to  the  station,  Ursula  appeared  with 
a  small  parcel  in  her  hand ;  she  gave  it  to  Theodore,  who  but- 
toned it  out  of  sight,  without  even  saying  "  Thanks." 

"There  is  one  thing  still,"  she  began,  hurriedly.  "You 
heard  about  the  election.  1  had  a  letter  yesterday  from  the 
Opposition  Caucus,  asking  me  if  I  wished  to  put  forward  a 
candidate,  or  would  accept  one  from  them.  I  have  none.  I 
have  one.  I  mean,  I  had  thought,  hearing  what  you  said  at 
dinner,  that,  if  your  political  opinions  were  theirs — " 

"  I  have  no  political  opinions,"  he  answered,  moving  away 
from  the  sheltering  pillar  to  the  light  where  the  others  stood 
grouped. 

She  put  out  one  hand.  "  I  am  sorry,"  she  stammered,  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot.  "I  had  thought — it  is  the  one  only 
thing  I  could  have  done  to  thank  you — to  express  my  grati- 
tude—" 

"  I  want  no  thanks,"  he  replied,  literally  shaking  off  her  hand. 
"  Gratitude,  pshaw  !  I  told  you  a  couple  of  hours  ago  that  I 
have  as  much  right  to  do  this  as  you  have.  I  am  not  all 
peasant,  Mevrouw.  You  remind  me  too  frequently  of  that 
side."  And  he  went  and  took  up  his  own  valise.  "  The  ser- 
vants forget  these  things,"  he  said  to  Helena. 

When  they  were  all  gone,  Ursula  crossed  the  cold  emptiness 
of  the  hall  and  encountered  Hephzibah.  The  maid  shrank 
away.  "  Hephzibah,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor,"  said  the 
young  Baroness.  "  Would  you  take  this  letter,  when  you  go  to 
the  Parsonage  to-morrow  with  the  Freule,  and  give  it  to  a 
person  who  is  staying  at  Klomp's  ?  Please  give  it  into  her  own 
hands.     There  is  money  in  it." 

"  H'm,"  reflected  Hephzibah,  watching  the  tall  figure  in  its 
slow  ascent.  "  Money  in  it.  Is  there  ?  And  why  ?  Throw  a 
barking  dog  a  bone."  She  shook  her  head.  "  If  I  hear  that 
noise  up-stairs  again,"  she  muttered,  "  I'll  write  to  the  Jonker, 
wife  or  not.  But  I've  said  that  so  often  before  !  And  if  the 
Jonker's  got  a  wife  already,  what  business  had  he  wearing 
Mevrouw's  glove  in  his  bosom  and  duelling?  I  saw  him  pick 
it  up.     It's  a  bad  world,  a  bad  world.     But  I'm  a  blessed  body 


334  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

to  feel  how  bad  it  is.  I  told  cook  about  the  groanings,  though 
I  didn't  explain  their  reason,  so  she  only  said  I  ought  to  take 
medicine." 

'*  Well,  Willie,  I've  lost  my  wager,"  declared  Helena,  as  soon 
as  they  were  rid  of  the  "  post-boy." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  pay  up  anyhow.  You  deserve 
to,  Nellie,  for  your  treatment  of  Ursula.  Poor  thing,  she  be- 
haved very  well,  I  thought.  She's  quite  lost  that  magnificent 
rich  complexion  of  hers.     She  looks  sallow." 

''  Oh,  that  will  come  right  when  she  marries  little  Theodore," 
replied  Helena,  with  tranquil  satisfaction.  "  The  person  I  am 
sorry  for  is  auntie.  I'm  sure  I  cried  with  her  for  nearly  an 
hour." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS 

The  scene  changes. 

For  one  moment  we  look,  with  clearer  eyes  than  the  poor  old 
Dowager's,  across  the  cruel  waste  of  waters  into  a  very  real 
dreamland,  and  we  see  Gerard,  Baron  van  Helmont,  after  two 
years  of  weary  waiting  for  glory,  wearily  waiting  for  glory  still. 

Gerard  van  Helmont  stood  before  his  hut  in  the  compound 
of  the  little  fort  under  his  command  on  the  Acheen  River.  All 
round  him  trembled,  with  soft  persistence,  the  thousand  breath- 
ings of  the  tropic  night. 

An  hour  ago  it  had  flung  itself,  the  sudden  blackness,  down 
the  slopes  of  the  Barissan  Mountains,  and  away  across  the 
green  islands  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  It  had  fallen  with  the 
swiftness  of  a  blow,  wiping  out  all  the  luxuriance  of  dreamy 
glories  that  lay  reposefuUy  burning  in  endless  variations  of 
verdure  under  the  moist  veil  of  paludal  heat.  The  wide  sea 
of  tropical  foliage  that  laughed  down  the  sides  of  the  valley  till 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  river  fort  had  sunk  back  from  view 
like  a  swiftly  receding  tide,  and  a  living  silence  now  brooded 
over  these  jungles  a-quiver  with  hate.  The  roar  of  the  million 
frogs  in  the  marshes  had  at  last  ceased  to  beat  against  never- 
accustomed  ears,  and  all  the  other  manifold  murmurs  and  flut- 
terings  had  died  down  to  one  dully  penetrative  tone,  whose 
ringing  music,  in  its  rhythmical  rise  and  fall,  swelled  upon  the 
ear  of  the  listener  like  the  pulse-beat  of  the  world.  Now  and 
then  the  sudden  bowlings  of  distant  wild  dogs  broke  out  hid- 
eously, or  the  clattering  shriek  of  the  tokkeh  resounded  from 
the  woods.     And  throughout  the  long  darkness  came  the  swish 


336  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

of  the  turbid  water  among  its  reeds  and  overhanging  branches, 
as  it  went  playing  around  the  masses  of  logs  and  rotten  refuse 
over  which  it  quarrels  day  and  night  in  slow  pushings  with 
the  sea. 

Nature  under  the  equator  knows  not  even  the  semblance  of 
rest.  In  Northern  countries  she  at  least  appears  to  sleep  ;  here 
she  sits  through  the  cooler  hours  on  her  couch  listening. 

Certainly  there  was  no  rest  for  Gerard  van  Ilelmont,  or  for 
any  Dutchman  at  that  time  in  Acheen  ;  there  was  only  the 
tension  of  expectant  inactivity  amid  all-encompassing  treachery, 
hundred-eyed  and  hundred-handed.  Barbaric  murder  lurked 
behind  every  tree  and  behind  every  smiling  face  that  bent  in 
allegiance.  For  if  an  Achinese  stoop  low  before  the  Kafir  it  is 
with  the  idea,  in  rising,  of  ripping  him  up. 

Gerard  in  this  small  "  Benting "  had  fifty  men  under  his 
orders,  European  and  native  fusileers.  His  nearest  neighbors 
were  established  about  half  a  mile  off  in  a  similar  intrench- 
ment,  a  certain  number  of  these  permanent  camps  having  been 
constructed  to  keep  open  the  way  to  the  sea,  for  the  invading 
force  had  gone  up  the  valley  into  the  interior. 

The  lanterns  along  the  outer  side  of  the  wall  had  been 
lighted ;  their  yellow  reflection  created  a  circle  of  vaguely  les- 
sening defence.  Across  this,  into  the  dark  tangle  beyond  the 
clearing,  peered  solitary  sentinels  by  their  guns.  A  sergeant 
tramped  past.     The  night  was  starless  and  misty. 

"  Werda?"  cried  a  sentry. 

Something  had  moved,  he  thought,  behind  the  glooming 
bushes.  Something  always  seemed  to  be  moving — ^  creeping 
forward  through  the  whispers  of  the  forest,  in  the  incessant 
alarm  of  guerilla  night  attack. 

"  Nonsense,  it's  too  early,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  Besides, 
we're  quite  safe  now,  here  in  these  pacified  districts.  Keep  a 
good  lookout,  all  the  same." 

Gerard  smiled,  overhearing  the  concluding  exhortation.  He 
knew  that  they  were  not  safe — no,  not  for  one  moment.  The 
friendly  villagers  from  the  farther  side  of  the  marsh  who  had 
sold  them  victuals  that  morning  might  even  now  be  meditating 
a  raid,  one  of  those  terrible  Achinese  swoops  and  withdrawals, 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  337 

the  hand-to-hand  swarm  up  the  battlements — Allah  ij  Allah ! — 
On! 

He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  wondered  how  many  he  still  had 
left.  It  was  painfully  lonely  and  humdrum  and  wearing.  Dan- 
ger becomes  humdrum ;  death  can  become  humdrum,  they  say. 
Occasionally  he  met  his  brother  officer  from  the  neighboring 
fort.  Otherwise  not  a  white -faced  Christian,  except  his  own 
garrison,  and  the  commissariat  people  from  the  camp,  at  long 
intervals,  with  stores. 

He  was  thinking — no,  not  of  home.  Soldiers — thank  God ! 
— do  not  always  think  of  home. 

He  was  thinking  of  his  men.  One  of  them,  an  Amboinese, 
had  got  himself  killed  that  morning  through  sheer  temerity 
and  disobedience.  There  were  a  couple  of  these  insubordinates 
in  the  Benting,  who,  wearying  of  inaction,  had  broken  out  once 
before  on  the  spree- — that  is  to  say,  on  the  hunt  for  a  grin- 
ning, long-haired  devil  with  a  klewang.  He  had  punished  them, 
of  course,  but  at  daybreak  this  morning  Adja  had  slipped  away 
alone,  and  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  friendly  Achinese. 
Gerard  knew  what  that  meant.  Death  by  the  most  prolonged 
of  cruelties,  a  slow  chopping  away  of  all  parts  except  such  as 
keep  life  extant.  He  sighed  as  he  thought  of  the  poor  fellow's 
fate,  and  the  inevitable  reprisals,  and  all  the  official  bother  and 
blame. 

And  he  reflected  on  certain  instructions  issued  not  long  ago. 
The  army,  whose  women  and  children  were  daily  exposed  to 
fiendish  barbarities,  had  been  reminded  that  every  Achinese 
was  a  man  and  a  brother,  and  must  be  treated  as  such.  Kind- 
ness to  prisoners  (even  if  they  owned  to  having  boiled  your 
envoy)  ;  kindness  to  villagers  (even  if  they  potted  you  as  you 
passed  their  houses) — these  were  of  the  elements  of  Christian 
warfare.  It  was  quite  true.  And,  moreover,  the  good  people 
at  home  that  write,  in  their  slippers,  to  the  newspapers  never 
pardoned  an  act  of  cruelty,  unless  practised  by  the  foe. 

"  I  must  speak  to  the  other  fellow,  I  suppose,"  said  Gerard. 
"  I  wonder  how  he  takes  it  ?  Sergeant,  send  Popa  along,"  and 
he  passed  into  his  hut,  that  the  interview  might  seem  more  im- 
posing under  the  yellow  glare  of  the  lamp.     The  hut  certainly 

22 


338  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

had  nothing  impressive  about  it,  with  its  bamboo  walls  and  un- 
even furniture.  There  was  a  small  rug  by  the  bed,  a  red  blot 
on  the  planks  which  alone  distinguished  this  abode  from  the 
mud-floored  homes  of  the  soldiery.  And  two  or  three  of  the 
articles  scattered  about  bespoke  the  refinement  of  their  owner. 

Popa  presented  himself,  a  lithe  little  fellow,  brown  and 
fierce.     He  saluted. 

"  Popa,  you  know  what  has  happened  to  Adja  ?" 

"  Tjingtjang,  Lieutenant,"  replied  Popa,  saluting  again.* 

"  You  may  be  thankful  that  you  didn't  accompany  him  this 
time.     If  you  had — "     He  paused,  and  looked  at  the  man. 

"Perhaps — forgive  me  that  I  say  it — we  should  not  have 
been  caught.  Lieutenant." 

"  In  that  case  your  punishment  would  have  awaited  you  here. 
You  understand  that  any  attempt  at  insubordination  will  hence- 
forth be  repressed  with  the  utmost  severity.  I  will  not  have  it. 
You  can  go." 

Popa  saluted  again,  and  tripped  off.  His  heart  was  hot  with- 
in him  for  the  loss  of  his  comrade. 

"  They  call  us  '  tiger-faces,'  "  he  reflected  ;  "  they  will  call  us 
'  tiger-tails.' " 

"  A  splendid  fighter,"  said  Gerard,  aloud,  "  like  so  many  of 
these  Amboinese.  And  nothing  to  be  gained  but  death  or  un- 
recorded glory.  God  forgive  the  worthies  at  home,  who  care 
for  no  man's  soul  or  body  as  long  as  consols  remain  at  par !  If 
some  of  us  didn't  love  fighting  for  its  own  mad  sake  (which  I 
certainly  don't)  where  would  their  Excellencies'  consols  be  ?" 

Then  he  lighted  another  cigarette,  and  once  more  told  him- 
self that  really  this  time  he  must  count  his  store.  So  he  would 
— to-morrow. 

He  threw  himself  in  his  single  rocking-chair  and  yawned. 
What  should  he  do  the  live-long  evening?  What  had  he  done 
through  the  creeping  weeks  and  months  ?  What  could  one  do  ? 
It  was  the  emptiness  which  tormented  him  —  the  not  doing 
anything :  he  wanted  to  be  with  the  invaders  on  ahead.  He 
groaned    over  this   misfortune   for  the   five -hundredth    time. 

*  Achinese  torture.     The  Dutch  soldier  says,  "  Lieutenant,"  etc. 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  339 

Otherwise,  Acheen  was  not  half  a  bad  place — much  more  spa- 
cious and  much  more  mouvemente  than  Holland.  Of  course  it 
was  always  horribly  hot,  and  here  where  he  lay,  by  the  marsh, 
it  was  even  especially  unhealthy.  Everybody  sickened.  But 
then,  on  the  other  hand,  there  were  no  duns.  Gerard  looked 
down  at  his  lean,  yellow  fingers.     Yes,  he  had  altered. 

But  what  matter  ?  Who  cared  ?  Only  he  wished  he  had 
had  something  to  show  for  it.  He  felt  that  the  Home  Gov- 
ernment may  send  you  to  kill  savages,  but  they  ought  to  pro- 
vide plenty  of  savages  for  you  to  kill. 

In  the  military  club  at  Kotta  Radja  he  was  popular.  He 
would  always  be  popular  with  brave  men  anywhere  because 
of  his  unpretending  unselfishness.  And  many  of  his  comrades 
liked  a  fellow  who  was  Baron  van  Helmont,  you  know,  by 
George !  and  he  never  seems  to  remember,  though,  somehow, 
you  never  forget. 

He  devoutly  wished  himself  in  the  club  at  this  moment. 
They  would  be  playing,  and  there  would  be  unlimited  to- 
bacco. 

"  Werda  ?"  He  leaped  to  his  feet.  A  swift  brightness  swept 
across  the  gloom  outside.  A  signal  rang  clear.  At  his  cabin 
door  a  sergeant  met  him. 

"  Friends,  Lieutenant,"  said  the  man. 

Under  the  protection  of  a  suddenly  uplifted  fire-ball,  half  a 
dozen  soldiers  in  dark  uniform  were  seen  approaching  t^he 
Benting,  whistling  a  signal  as  they  came.  Gerard  recognized 
a  party  from  the  neighboring  fort,  his  companion  in  exile  at 
their  head.     Greatly  surprised,  he  went  down  to  the  gate. 

"You,  Streeling  1"  he  cried.  "What,  in  the  name  of  mis- 
chief, brings  you  here?  That  light  of  yours  will  rouse  the 
neighborhood." 

"  Put  it  out,  somebody,"  said  the  new-comer.  "  I  only  fired 
it  as  we  emerged  from  the  wood.  I  felt  no  desire  to  test  your 
sentries,  thanks." 

"  Well,  what  have  you  come  for?" 

"  And  why  shouldn't  I  take  my  walks  abroad  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening  ?     Isn^t  this  the  pacified  zone  ?" 

Gerard's  brother-commander  was  a  facetious  little  man,  melan- 


340  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

choly  by  nature,  and  with  a  melanc-holy  history,  which  he  kept 
to  himself. 

"  Let's  go  into  your  hut  and  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  Have 
you  anything  left  to  drink?" 

"  Only  brandy." 

"  Lucky  fellow  to  have  plenty  of  spirits  still !"  He  settled 
himself,  by  right  of  sodality,  in  the  rocking-chair,  the  proprietor 
of  the  shanty  crouching  on  the  bed. 

"  It's  just  this,"  began  Streeling,  with  suppressed  excitement. 
"Kray veld's  turned  up  at  my  place  from  the  ships  with  im- 
portant despatches.  The  steam-launch  can't  get  any  farther 
to-night,  and  he  says  they  must  be  taken  on  to  the  front,  in 
any  case,  at  once.  It  appears  they've  big  plans  for  to-morrow 
up  yonder."     He  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  his  hopes. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerard,  and  his  downcast  eyelids  twitched. 

"His  orders  are  that  one  of  us  is  to  take  them  on  by  road, 
and  that  he  is  to  remain  in  command  for  the  man  that  goes. 
He  doesn't  know  the  road,  you  know  —  what  there  is  of  it, 
damn  it !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Gerard,  continuing  the  close  study  of  his 
cigarette-point.    "  Which  is  to  take  them  on  ?" 

"  There's  the  nuisance.  The  *  Vice '  has  left  that  to  us  to 
settle.  Didn't  know  which  had  least  fever,  you  know.  But 
one  of  us  may  go." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Gerard,  with  a  sigh ;  "  I  suppose  it  must  be 
you." 

"  I  suppose  it  must,"  admitted  the  little  man,  echoing  the 
sigh.  "  I'm  the  oldest,  you  see.  It's  risky  work.  You're  as 
likely  as  not  to  get  hashed  into  mince-meat  by  some  of  those 
klewang  brutes.     Save  us  from  our  friends,  say  I !" 

"  True,  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  risk,"  replied  Gerard,  with 
much  alacrity.  "  I'll  go,  if  you  like.  In  fact,  you  know,  I 
think  it  had  better  be  I." 

"  Why  ?  Nonsense.  You  were  awfully  seedy  when  I  was 
over  here  last  week.  And  it  strikes  me  you're  looking  pale 
to-day.  The  miasma  '11  be  murderous  at  this  time  of  night 
round  by  the  second  swamp." 

"  Yes,"  said  Gerard  again,  endeavoring  to  improve  the  lamp- 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  341 

light.  "How  long  is  it  — did  you  say  —  since  your  fever 
went?" 

The  other  did  not  answer  immediately,  and  in  the  silence 
that  ensued  Gerard  let  fall  one  word  from  the  tips  of  his  lips: 

"  Humbug !" 

"  Humbug,  am  I  ?     And  what  are  you  ?     Yah  !" 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Well,  then,  if  it  must  be,  it  must  be,"  said  Streeling,  sub- 
missively ;  "  I  don't  want  to  spoil  your  chances,  old  man.  Let's 
draw  lots." 

"  You  are  the  eldest,"  admitted  Gerard.    "  Thanks." 

"  The  eldest  ought  to  remain  in  command,"  replied  Streeling, 
with  a  grin.  "  But  I'll  tell  you  what — -we'll  sit  by  the  doorway, 
and  if  the  first  man  that  passes  is  a  native,  it's  yours.  That'll 
give  me  the  odds,  for  you've  got  more  Europeans." 

*'  Done,"  said  Gerard,  and  they  waited  near  the  dark  entry  in 
silence,  puffing. 

Presently  Popa  came  by. 

"  Damn  my  luck !"  ejaculated  the  little  officer,  with  great 
energy,  somewhere  deep  down  in  his  throat.  He  got  up. 
"Well,  it's  fairly  earned,  and  I  wish  you  joy.  I  hope  you'll 
have  a  chance  to-morrow  of  getting  near  the  blackguards. 
Meanwhile  I  must  make  myself  as  comfortable  as  I  can." 

"  Oh,  as  likely  as  not  you'll  see  me  back  before  breakfast  to- 
morrow. However,  if  there's  a  fight  on,  of  course  I  shall  ask 
leave  to  stay." 

"  Of  course.  Well,  here  are  the  despatches.  And — by  Jove ! 
Helmont,  I  beg  your  pardon — here  are  your  letters  that  Kray- 
veld  brought  up  with  him.  I  quite  forgot,  thinking  of  other 
things.     Well,  I  wish  you  joy,  that's  all  I  can  say." 

"Thanks.     I  suppose  I  had  better  be  getting  ready." 

"  How  many  men  will  you  take  ?     Half  a  dozen  ?" 

"  A  sergeant  and  six  fusileers.  I  shall  let  the  men  volunteer. 
But  I  want  a  couple  of  natives  for  the  sake  of  their  ears  and 
eyes."  Gerard  went  out  and  set  to  work  at  once,  selecting 
the  best  men  from  among  a  swarm  of  candidates.  Half  an 
hour  afterwards  everything  was  ready ;  the  eight  dark  figures 
filed  through  the  purposely  darkened  gateway :  who  could  say 


342  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

what  eyes  might  be  watching,  alarmed  by  Streeling's  sudden 
blaze  ?  Gerard  came  first,  with  the  sergeant,  their  loaded  re- 
volvers in  their  hands.     Popa  brought  up  the  rear. 

Gerard  reflected  that  he  owed  his  good -fortune  to  Popa's 
opportune  appearance.  "  Well,  I'll  take  you,"  he  said.  "  You're 
in  want  of  something  to  cheer  you  up.  But  none  of  your 
pranks,  mind." 

Popa  saluted. 

A  clearing,  as  has  been  said,  surrounded  the  Benting ;  im- 
mediately beyond  that,  however,  the  party  plunged  into  the  for- 
est, and  were  obliged  to  advance  along  the  narrow  path  in  single 
file.     They  had  about  two  miles  to  go. 

The  night  hung  heavy  in  the  enormous  trees  and  among  the 
tangled  masses  of  underwood.  Stars  there  were  none,  and  the 
air  seemed  to  be  full  of  gray  floatings  that  veiled  its  usual  trans- 
parency.    So  much  the  better. 

It  was  very  silent  now.  The  whole  line  of  them  went  creep- 
ing forward,  with  eyes  to  right  and  left,  everywhere  alert,  every 
footstep  hushed,  as  the  dim  trunks  loomed  through  the  dark- 
ness in  continuous  clumps.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  Achinese 
to  lurk  by  these  pathways  day  and  night,  waiting  with  infinite 
patience  for  the  rare  chance  of  killing  a  single  foe.  At  any 
moment  their  shriek  might  burst  forth  and  their  scimitars  might 
flash.  The  air  all  around  was  full  of  indistinct  movement,  soft 
and  sultry  under  the  palms  and  waringin-trees. 

"'St!  What  was  that?"  They  all  stood  as  granite,  finger 
on  trigger.  Only  some  faint  breath  high  above  them  touching 
the  never-silent  tjimaras. 

"  Confound  them  tjimaras,  sir !"  whispers  the  sergeant. 
"  They're  every  bit  as  bad,  sir,  as  women's  tongues." 

"  'St  1  Forward."  Every  now  and  then  Gerard  halts  and 
listens;  his  thoughts  are  of  the  precious  packet  sleeping  on 
his  breast. 

In  fact,  it  was  madness,  this  night  excursion  along  the  most 
uncertain  of  foot-paths.  Why  couldn't  they  send  up  their  de- 
spatches earlier? 

Krayveld  had  answered  that  they  couldn't  send  them  before 
they  got  them.     Gerard  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  the  dark. 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  343 

Despatches  yVom  Government  were  hardly  likely,  he  thought,  to 
be  worth  a  single  soldier's  life. 

With  a  feeling  of  very  real  relief  he  reached  the  rice-fields 
beyond  the  wood.  He  stopped  and  counted  his  men.  Rear- 
guard there  all  right?  Forward.  Who's  that  making  his 
poniard  click  ? 

Far  in  the  distance,  miles  away,  lay  a  couple  of  sleeping  vil- 
lages ;  those  nearest  had  been  razed  to  the  ground ;  some  brute 
was  howling  among  the  ruins.  From  the  fort  rang  the  beat  of 
the  hour,  as  struck  by  a  sentry  on  a  wooden  block,  breaking 
across  the  solitude  with  terrifying  distinctness.     Eleven. 

Beyond  the  rice-fields,  through  the  tall,  still  grass,  and  by  the 
sickening  marshes,  with  their  reeds  and  sleeping  water -fowl, 
then  up  again  into  the  great  forest,  darkling,  dangerous.  Into 
the  depths  of  the  forest,  deeper,  deeper. 

"  Hist !"  In  a  moment  the  men  had  formed  round  their 
leader,  for  the  noise  of  crackling  branches  resounded  in  every 
ear.     Again. 

The  enemy  was  upon  them  ! 

"  Kalong.     Kalong,"  said  one  of  the  Amboinese. 

"  It's  the  big  bats,  sir,  out  feeding,"  echoed  the  sergeant. 

"  I  know,"  replied  Gerard.  "  What's  all  this  row  about  ? 
Single  file.  We  shall  have  to  be  doubly  careful."  And  on 
they  went,  with  that  occasional  breaking  of  twigs  around  them 
that  was  infinitely  worse  than  the  silence  had  been.  It  would 
now  prove  impossible  immediately  to  distinguish  an  approach- 
ing assassin.  The  darkness  seemed  to  thicken,  as  with  a  flood 
of  ink. 

At  last  they  once  more  stood  outside  the  jungle.  Before 
them,  with  an  open  space  intervening,  lay  the  camp,  black 
against  the  darkness  of  the  plain.  All  around  stretched  the 
rapid  ruin  of  a  roughly  widened  clearing ;  the  smell  of  roots 
and  rotting  plants  and  freshly-hewn  logs  was  almost  insupport- 
able. It  would  have  signalled  the  camp  from  afar.  Every  one 
who  has  slept  in  these  clearings  knows  the  odor.  From  time 
to  time  a  rocket  went  up  in  silence,  piloting  the  patrols. 

"  Halt !"  said  Gerard.     "  What's  wrong  behind  ?" 

"  Rear  man  missing,  sir." 


344  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

He  turned  sharply.  "  Impossible !"  No  one  ventured  to 
contradict  liim,  hut  their  silence  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  Popa 
had  dropped  away. 

"  We  must  go  back,"  said  Gerard.  "  He  must  have  fallen. 
How  did  you  not  notice  ?" 

"Please,  Lieutenant,  it  was  the  crackling.  I  thought  it  was 
the  Kalongs." 

They  retraced  their  steps  in  glum  anxiety,  and  searched  back 
into  the  forest  for  nearly  half  a  mile.  At  last  Gerard  dared  go 
no  farther;  already  his  military  conscience  pricked  him.  The 
military  conscience  almost  always  pricks. 

"  I  must  take  on  the  despatches,"  he  said.  "  After  that  we 
can  see.  I  don't  understand  at  all.  He  can't  have  fallen.  You, 
Drok,  surely  we  have  gone  far  enough  ?" 

"  We  have  gone  too  far.  Lieutenant,"  replied  the  man  in  an 
awe-struck  whisper.     "  I  saw  him  farther  on  than  this." 

"  Very  well ;  it  can't  be  helped.  Forward."  In  grave  pro- 
cession the  little  party  reached  the  camp. 

Having  delivered  up  his  despatches,  Helmont  asked  first  for 
leave  to  stay  and  see  to-morrow's  operations,  and  secondly  for  a 
search-party  to  hunt  up  his  missing  man.  It  cannot  be  said 
that  the  Colonel  jumped  at  the  latter  proposal. 

The  next  day  was  to  be  an  important  one,  and  he  wanted 
every  soul  that  could  to  get  a  decent  sleep. 

"Depend  upon  it,"  he  said,  "the  fellow  has  been  cut  down 
by  a  marauder.     They  always  cut  down  the  last  of  the  troop." 

"Yes,  but  I  should  like  to  find  that  marauder,"  replied 
Gerard,  "  or  the  corpse.     May  I  go  back  with  my  own  men?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  the  commanding  officer,  a  little  testily. 
"  You  may  go  back  all  the  way,  if  you  like.     Good-night." 

So  the  little  troop  slipped  away  from  the  encampment  and 
back  into  the  jungle  again.  They  all  considered  it  hard  lines, 
but  entirely  unavoidable.  And  they  peered  the  more  closely 
into  the  dark. 

Presently  one  of  the  native  soldiers  stopped  on  a  slope  and 
pointed  to  the  bush  close  behind  him.  None  of  the  Europeans 
could  distinguish  anything. 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  345 

"  Man  gone  down  here,"  he  said ;  "  there's  a  track."  He 
knelt  and  began  cautiously  feeling  along  the  ground.  *'  Lieu- 
tenant, there's  a  man  gone  down  here,"  he  repeated ;  "  gone 
into  the  Aleh-Aleh  (the  long  grass) ;  you  could  see  if  it  wasn't 
so  black." 

A  path  of  any  kind  there  certainly  was  not;  still, Gerard  con- 
sented to  reconnoitre  a  short  distance,  cautiously  following  the 
trail. 

It  turned  abruptly,  and  after  a  few  steps  which  rendered  thein 
clear  of  the  trees,  the  little  party  stood  enclosed  in  tall  green 
spikes  on  every  hand. 

"  'Tis  along  here  to  the  right,"  persisted  the  fusileer.  Here, 
at  least,  the  dark  sky  hung  free  above  them,  and  the  air  was 
fresher  than  in  the  wood.  Gerard  hesitated.  "  We  shall  lose 
ourselves,"  he  said.  But  even  as  he  spoke  a  faint  purl  of  hu- 
man voices  reached  them,  evidently  coming  from  some  distance 
farther  on  down  below.  For  a  moment  they  crouched,  with 
straining  ears.  Then  "  Forward,"  said  their  leader,  and  they 
slunk  through  the  labyrinth,  with  constant  precaution  lest  any 
weapon  should  catch,  pausing  to  hearken,  seeking  the  sound. 

Their  pulses  quickened  as  they  realized  that  it  was  drawing 
nearer.  After  a  slow  descent,  which  seemed  wellnigh  endless, 
they  could  even  distinguish  a  flow  of  sound  in  suppressed  but 
eager  torrent.  It  was  impossible  to  distinguish  words,  yet  sud- 
denly each  man's  heart  asked  the  self-same,  silent  question : 
Why  were  these  Achinese  marauders,  with  whom  they  were  on 
the  point  of  colliding,  conversing  in  Malay?    The  voice  ceased. 

The  Aleh-Aleh  broke  off  unexpectedly  on  the  ridge  of  a  steep 
incline.  Gerard,  slipping  forward,  sprang  back  under  shelter, 
not  a  moment  too  soon.  In  the  sudden  opening  he  had  descried 
above  them,  a  little  to  the  right,  as  the  fusileer  had  foretold,  a 
dozen  of  the  enemy  grouped  on  a  narrow,  bamboo-protected 
ledge  round  a  tiny,  low  -  burning  lamp.  Cautiously  he  now 
peeped  forth,  and  by  the  feeble  flicker  recognized  the  wretched 
Popa,  bound  and  stripped  to  the  waist,  in  the  centre  of  the 
group. 

"  There,"  he  said,  pointing.  "  Forward."  Slipping  and 
crawling  along  the  edge,  so  as  to  keep  clear  of  the  swish  of  the 


346  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

grass,  the  men  followed  him  up.  Under  them  the  abyss  fell 
straight. 

On  the  skirts  of  the  little  plateau  they  stopped.  They  could 
now  plainly  perceive  that  Popa  had  a  gaping  klewang  wound 
across  his  shoulder.  What  feeble  light  there  was  had  been 
turned  full  upon  the  prisoner,  the  wild  forms  of  his  captors 
sinking  away  into  the  darkness.  They  have  been  arguing  with 
him,  reflected  Gerard,  trying  to  induce  him,  by  the  usual  horri- 
ble threats,  to  desert.  Judging  by  the  man's  countenance,  they 
had  now  accorded  him  time  to  consider. 

Even  while  his  comrades  stood  watching,  waiting — to  shoot 
were  to  imperil  the  central  figure — the  allotted  moments  must 
have  run  themselves  out.  One  of  the  Achinese  sprang  to  his 
feet,  his  big  gold  button  twinkling,  and  with  a  hideous  flash  of 
his  scimitar  across  the  dilating  stare  of  the  soldiery,  he  swept 
off  one  of  the  prisoner's  ears.  Another  started  up  with  a  simi- 
lar movement,  but  before  he  could  fling  himself  forward  a  shrill 
chorus  of  shrieks  overflowed  on  all  sides.  Somehow,  he  can 
never  tell  how,  Gerard  was  up  on  the  ledge,  in  the  midst  of 
them ;  Popa's  assailant  had  fallen,  shot  through  the  breast ;  a 
dozen  distorted,  vellino;  faces  were  seething  around  the  drawn 
sword  of  the  "  Wolanda." 

Thirty  seconds,  swift,  interminable,  an  unbroken  clash  of 
steel  through  the  smoke  and  crash  of  the  bullets — thirty  sec- 
onds intervened  before  his  soldiers,  getting  up  to  him,  plunged 
fiercely  forward,  with  bayonet  and  poniard,  into  the  indistin- 
guishable mass.  The  little  lamp  had  immediately  rolled  over ; 
the  solemn  darkness  shook  with  a  turmoil  of  oaths  and  outcries 
rising  high  above  the  clang  of  the  fighting  and  the  thud  of  the 
fallen.  In  a  moment  it  was  all  over.  Yet  the  trembling  air 
still  seemed  to  listen  among  the  sudden  silence  of  the  tall  tji- 
mara-trees. 

A  heavy  groan  shuddered  slowly  forth.  Then  another.  And 
again  another  in  a  different  voice. 

Gerard  struck  a  match  and  lighted  a  pocket-lantern.  Of  his 
seven  men,  three,  including  Popa,  still  stood  upright;  a  fourth 
rose,  stumbling,  from  the  dark  confusion  on  the  ground.  Of 
the  three  remaining,  two  were  already  dead  (one  decapitated), 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  347 

and  the  third  lay  unconscious.  Not  one  of  the  Achinese  was 
able  to  continue  the  fray. 

"Hurry  up,"  said  Gerard,  cutting  Popa's  bonds.  "No,  I'm 
not  wounded ;  it's  nothing  but  a  scratch.  We're  quite  near  the 
camp;  the  least  hurt  must  help  the  others." 

The  tomtom,  the  enemy's  well-known  alarm,  came  thumping 
down  the  valley,  re-echoed  on  every  side  from  twenty  watchful 
hiding-places. 

"  Hurry  up  for  your  lives  !"  cried  Gerard.  In  shamefaced 
silence  Popa  pointed  to  an  easier  track.  Slowly  and  laboriously 
the  two  badly  wounded  were  passed  down  by  the  others ;  the 
trail  was  followed  back  again  ;  the  foot-path  was  reached.  Near 
the  entrance  to  the  wood  a  patrol  met  them,  sent  out  on  the  re- 
port of  the  firing. 

"  And  you,  Popa,  speak,"  said  Gerard,  after  the  tension  was 
over. 

"  It  is  my  crime.  Lieutenant ;  the  fault  be  on  my  head.  I 
observed  the  trail  as  we  went  by ;  my  thoughts  were  heavy  for 
the  murdered  Adja.  I  wandered  down  it  a  few  steps  in  my  cu- 
riosity, knowing  I  could  soon  rejoin  you.  Suddenly  one  struck 
at  me  from  the  darkness  through  the  grass." 

"  And  why  did  they  not  come  after  us  ?"  questioned  Ge- 
rard. 

"  You  were  gone  on,  up  above ;  the  grass  is  high.  There 
were  two  of  them  only  ;  I  was  alone,  marauding." 

"  You  shall  be  shot  to-morrow,"  said  Gerard. 

"  Lieutenant,  it  is  right." 

But  on  the  morrow  nobody  had  any  time  to  think  of  shoot- 
ing Popa.  At  a  very  early  hour,  in  the  dewy  silence  of  sun- 
rise, the  gates  of  the  fortified  camp  were  thrown  back,  and  the 
stream  of  soldiers,  solemnly  emerging,  went  curling  down  into 
the  rice-fields,  with  a  long  glitter  of  guns.  All  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  farther  frontier  of  forest,  where  stretched,  half-hidden, 
the  low,  sullen  line  of  the  enemy's  defence.  A  couple  of  ad- 
vance forts,  whose  small  cannon  were  proving  especially  trouble- 
some, had  been  marked  out  for  the  morning's  attack.  Of  late 
these  operations  had  been  greatly  restricted,  and  th-e  men  now 


348  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

sent  out  accepted  gratefully  a  possibility  of  painless  death.  For 
the  shadow  of  cholera  lay  lurid  upon  the  camp. 

Gerard  was  indeed  in  luck,  as  Streeling  had  said,  after  all 
these  wistfully  patient  months.  He  had  taken  a  sick  man's 
place,  and  was  acting  as  a  (mounted)  captain. 

In  the  slow  splendor  of  the  burning  daybreak,  across  that 
vast  expanse  of  increasing  sun,  the  "  right  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth battalion,"  separating  from  the  main  body,  advanced 
with  half  a  company  of  sappers,  under  cover  of  artillery,  against 
the  fortifications  of  Lariboe.  They  were  barely  within  range 
when  the  enemy  opened  fire  from  his  lilas  or  little  cannon, 
almost  immediately  backing  up  the  discharge  with  the  flat 
bang  of  numerous  blunderbusses  and  the  rarer  whistle  of  the 
breech-loader.  The  roar  of  his  resistance  now  became  continu- 
ous, and  soon  his  intrenchments  ran  like  a  torrent  of  flame 
under  rapidly  thickening  clouds. 

At  a  distance  of  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  paces  the  troops 
halted,  momentarily,  to  send  back  a  volley  in  reply.  Then  on 
they  went  again,  silently  filling  up  the  gaps  in  their  ranks, 
while,  after  the  custom  of  Eastern  warfare,  a  hailstorm  of  curses 
and  abusive  epithets  now  mingled  with  the  deadlier  missiles 
that  poured  into  their  midst.  At  fifty  paces  the  order  was 
given  to  charge. 

The  men,  rushing  forward  to  their  special  point  of  attack, 
found  themselves  arrested  by  an  outer  hedge  of  thick  bamboo 
bushes,  with  a  broad  border  of  bamboo  spikes.  Once  close  up 
against  this  position  they  were  somewhat  more  sheltered  from 
the  fire  of  the  central  line,  and,  moreover,  protected  by  the 
artillery  behind  them ;  but  the  garrison  of  the  fort  did  not 
leave  them  one  moment  unharassed.  They  were  now  compelled 
to  unsheathe  their  knives,  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  sappers,  they 
began  calmly  carving  a  passage  through  the  dense  obstruction 
of  the  bamboos. 

A  few  terrible  minutes  elapsed.  Some  of  the  soldiers,  cut  by 
the  spikes,  flung  themselves  in  furious  effort  against  this  living 
wall ;  others  recoiled  for  a  moment,  disheartened  by  the  groans 
of  the  wounded  around  them,  feeling  hopelessly  arrested  be- 
tween advance  and  retreat.     Then,  as  death  still  continued  to 


THUNDER    IN    THE    TROPICS  349 

blaze  down  upon  them,  amid  the  taunts  of  the  enemy,  they 
rushed  bravely  to  their  task  again,  cheered  by  their  officers, 
who  well  knew  the  strain  of  such  an  obstinate  impediment. 
Every  moment  of  delay  was  calamitous.  Through  an  opening 
the  fort  became  visible,  lying  well  back  behind  a  field,  its  ram- 
parts vaguely  crowded  with  brightly  turbaned  heads.  And  half- 
way between  hedge  and  fort  rose  insolently  the  banner  of 
Acheen's  Sultan,  with  its  crescent  and  klewangs,  over  a  stuffed 
doll,  intended  for  a  caricature  of  the  idolized  Dutch  General, 
ignominiously  hanging  by  the  feet. 

Not  one  man  who  was  there  but  will  remember  with  what 
a  fury  of  reprisal  this  childish  insult  filled  our  breasts.  Amid 
shouts  of  execration  the  attack  on  the  breach  was  renewed ; 
but  at  that  moment,  above  the  hacking  and  swearing,  a  dark 
mass,  rushing  swiftly  from  the  background,  rose  mighty  in 
mid-air,  and  at  one  leap  —  grown  historic  —  Helmont's  horse 
cleared  spikes,  soldiers,  and  bamboos,  and  landed  serenely  on 
the  farther  side.  Then,  galloping  up  to  the  derisive  effigy, 
Helmont  rapidly  cut  it  loose,  bringing  down  the  enemy's  flag 
along  with  it,  and,  flinging  the  colors  of  Acheen  across  his 
revolver,  he  fired  through  them  five  swift  barrels  at  the  cluster- 
ing turbans  which  were  concentrating  their  aim  on  this  unex- 
pected target.  Then,  holding  the  image  superbly  aloft,  he 
began  backing  his  horse — all  in  one  exquisite  instant  of  time — 
and  fell  heavily,  horse,  rider,  and  effigy  rolling  together  amid  a 
sudden  rush  of  blood.  Before  and  behind  rose  a  mingling 
yell  as  of  wild  beasts  wounded.  A  little  brown  Amboinese, 
his  clothes  and  limbs  torn  and  ensanguined,  ran  forward,  hav- 
ing fought  his  way  first  through  the  aperture,  and  flung  him- 
self as  a  screen  across  the  prostrate  officer.  Only  a  moment 
longer  and  the  whole  lot  of  them,  with  faces  distorted  and  uni- 
forms disordered,  came  pouring  over  the  field  under  a  fierce 
increase  of  projectiles.  They  swept  upward  in  the  madness 
of  the  storm,  the  brief  pandemonium  of  shouts,  shrieks,  and 
imprecations,  the  whirlwind  of  firing  and  fighting,  in  a  mystery 
of  dust  and  smoke.  And  a  cheer,  leaping  high  above  that  hell, 
leaping  high  with  a  human  note  of  gladness,  announced  that 
the  fort  had  been  carried,  that  victory  was  won.     Up  with  our 


350  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

own  orange  rag  on  the  summit  I  Hark  to  the  shrill  blare  of  the 
bugle !     Hurrah ! 

They  disengaged  Helmont  from  his  dying  charger  and 
carried  him  away  to  the  ambulance.  In  undressing  him,  cutting 
loose  the  clothes,  the  doctor  came  on  his  parcel  of  letters,  and, 
a  moment  afterwards,  on  an  old  brown  glove.  The  left  hand 
still  firmly  clutched  the  hideously  grinning  doll.  Popa  would 
permit  no  one  to  force  the  fingers  asunder — Popa,  who,  in  spite 
of  his  shoulder-wound,  had  obtained  leave  that  morning  to  get 
himself  killed  by  the  enemy  if  he  could,  and  who  certainly 
had  done  his  best.  The  doctor  gently  put  aside  the  relic  and 
the  opened  letters.  Gerard  had  still  read  them  the  night  be- 
fore. There  had  been  one  more,  which  he  had  read  twice 
over,  and  had  then  burned  carefully  and  ground  to  dust. 

"  Helmont,"  cried  the  purple  Colonel,  hurriedly,  stooping  low 
by  the  young  man's  unconscious  ear.  "  Can't  you  understand 
what  I'm  saying?  I've  only  a  moment.  It's  the  Military  Cross. 
Gentlemen,  surely  that  should  call  him  to  life  again.  Helmont, 
I  swear,  by  the  heavens  above  us,  it's  bound  to  be  the  Military 
Cross  !'^' 

The  Dowager  looked  up  from  her  placid  embroidery  and 
smiled  to  Plush.  Beyond  the  great  gray  window  the  sleepy 
twilight  was  softly  sinking  back  into  an  unbroken  veil  of  mist. 
"  What  a  dull  drab  day  it  has  been  !"  said  the  Dowager.  "  I 
wonder — "  But  she  left  her  sentence  unfinished.  And  the 
folds  of  the  curtain  hung  dense.  For  an  Angel  of  Mercy  has 
drawn  it  across  our  horizon. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THE     FINGER     OF     SCORN 

It  was  quite  true  that  the  days  at  the  Horst  were  drab- 
colored.  They  seemed  to  be  that  even  all  through  the  long 
and  brilliant  summer,  and  their  darkening  could  hardly  be 
called  perceptible  when  the  northern  sun  sank  from  sight  for 
seven  slow  months.  Time  appeared  to  lower  over  the  house 
with  the  dumb  threat  of  an  approaching  thunder-storm.  And 
some  people  are  fretful  before  a  thunder-storm ;  and  some  hold 
their  breaths. 

The  Bois-le-Duc  Helmonts  were  settled  at  the  Home  Farm. 
The  tranquil  mother  had  said:  Oh  yes;  she  still  knew  how 
to  milk  cows ;  it  would  really  be  rather  amusing !  And  she 
had  spread  her  fat  hands  on  her  ample  lap  and  smiled  her 
good-natured  smile.  But  Theodore  had  frowned.  "  Leave  the 
cow-milking,"  he  had  said,  bitterly,  "  to  the  Baroness  Ursula." 
As  soon  as  he  got  away  from  Ursula  he  felt  that  he  hated  her. 

His  temper  did  not  improve  during  the  first  year  of  his  new 
occupation.  Work  as  he  would — night  and  day — he  could  not 
make  up  for  initial  mistakes,  nor  could  he  victoriously  combat 
increasing  agricultural  depression.  The  dispossessed  farm- 
steward  successfully  harassed  him  on  every  hand.  If  Otto,  the 
lord  of  the  manor,  had  made  himself  unpopular  by  putting 
down  abuses,  what  must  be  the  fate  of  this  stranger,  with  his 
perky,  boyish  face  ?  The  whole  neighborhood,  for  miles  round, 
was  full  of  people  with  grievances,  some  deep  down,  of  Otto's 
inflicting,  others  freshly  bleeding  under  Ursula's  hand.  And  a 
low  tide  of  resentment  was  secretly  swelling  under  smooth 
water  against  My  Lady  Nobody. 

Ugly  stories  began  to  be  told  about  her,  diligently  propa- 


352  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

gated  by  Meerman,  the  discarded  agent.  As  if  all  her  admin- 
istrative sins  were  not  sufficient,  accusations  had  lately  cropped 
up  which  appealed  far  more  vividly  to  the  popular  imagination. 
Substantial  housewives  whispered  behind  her  back  "  Fie  !  fie  !" 
and  young  fellows  winked  to  each  other,  grinning.  No  one 
knew  whence  these  stories  had  suddenly  sprung,  but  everybody 
had  heard  them.  A  patient  inquirer  might,  perhaps,  have 
traced  their  origin  to  Klomp's  cottage  in  the  wood. 

When  they  first  reached  the  ear  of  the  village  constable 
that  worthy  portentously  shook  his  head.  It  was  in  the  tavern 
parlor  of  Horstwyk,  where  the  lesser  notables  sat  nightly,  pipe 
in  hand,  waiting  for  each  other  to  speak.  The  village  constable 
was  a  great  man,  chiefly  because  he  managed  to  keep  clear  of 
animosities,  and  his  opinion  carried  weight.  Every  man  present, 
leering  up  at  him  in  the  peculiar,  deliberate  peasant  way,  felt 
that  he  knew  more  than  he  deemed  it  wise  to  acknowledge,  and 
they  all  approved  his  prudence.  But  nothing  could  more  re- 
sistlessly  have  condemned  the  Lady  of  the  Manor.  The  Law — 
mysterious  Weigher  of  all  men  in  secret  balances — knew. 

"There's  something  written  up  against  her,"  they  reflected, 
awe-struck.     Juffers,  the  constable,  merely  said : 

"  The  Lady  Baroness  is  a  very  charitable  lady.  I  wish  you 
all  good-night." 

He  shook  his  head  to  himself  all  the  way  home,  and  in  pass- 
ing a  particular  spot,  by  a  great  elm-tree,  on  the  road  near  the 
Manor-house,  he  flashed  his  dark-lantern  across  the  ground,  as  if 
struck  by  a  sudden  doubt. 

Just  then — some  two  years  after  Otto's  death — there  were 
plenty  of  rumors  afloat  to  interest  the  village  cronies.  Quite 
recently  lazy,  good-for-nothing  Pietje  Klomp  had  come  to  grief, 
"as  everybody  had  always  expected  she  would,"  in  the  usual 
"  good-for-nothing  "  manner.  Strangely  enough,  her  equally  lazy 
and  worthless  father  had  driven  her  forth  from  under  his  roof 
with  unexpected  energy — an  abundance  of  oaths  and  blows — 
when,  confident  in  his  oft-proven  affection,  she  ventured  to  con- 
fess her  now  hopeless  disgrace.  After  half  a  night  of  hail  and 
snow  in  the  wood  she  had  crept  back  to  obtain  admittance  from 
the  pitiful  Mietje,  but  next  morning  her  inflexible  parent  had 


THE    FINGER    OF    SCORN  353 

once  more  turned  her  adrift.  She  had  watched  for  an  oppor- 
tunity while  he  dozed,  and  then  quietly  slipped  to  her  accustomed 
seat.  During  several  days  this  singular  duel  had  lasted,  and 
ultimately,  of  course,  the  woman's  persistence  had  triumphed. 
Klomp  only  ejected  the  girl  when  he  had  to  get  up,  anyhow. 
As  long,  therefore,  as  he  remained  on  his  bench  by  the  stove 
she  was  safe.  And  Mietje,  tearfully  exerting  herself,  took  care 
to  anticipate  all  her  father's  few  wishes — for  coffee,  fuel,  last 
week's  newspaper,  et  cetera — and  to  keep  him  "  immobilized  " 
during  a  great  part  of  the  day.  He  was  not  unwilling,  pro- 
vided he  could  scowl  at  Pietje  in  the  pauses  of  his  almost  con- 
tinuous snore. 

Ursula,  of  course,  heard  from  Freule  Louisa  what  Freule 
Louisa  had  heard  from  her  maid.  So  Ursula  called  to  see  the 
criminal.  She  had  compromised  with  the  ladies  of  her  house- 
hold, and  only  went  to  visit  such  patients  as  the  doctor  had 
certified  free  from  any  risk  of  infection.  The  village,  knowing 
this,  wrote  her  down  a  coward. 

'<  May  I  come  in  ?"  asked  Ursula  at  Klomp's  door. 

No  answer ;  for  the  door  was  locked,  Klomp  would  not  stir 
to  open  it,  and  Pietje  dared  not  pass  near  her  father.  She  cow- 
ered in  her  corner,  stiller  than  any  scratchy  mouse. 

Ursula  rattled  the  lock  in  vain.  Then  she  peeped  through 
the  window,  darkening  its  dirt,  and  saw  Pietje's  woful  eyes 
staring  out  of  the  gloom  from  the  floor.  With  the  resolute 
movement  she  herself  delighted  in,  she  thrust  up  the  low  win- 
dow from  outside  and  stepped  over  the  sill. 

"Would  you  shut  it,  please,  m'm,  now  you're  ^/^^'  said 
Klomp's  sleepy  voice. 

Ursula  sat  down  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  facing  Pietje's 
dark  corner. 

"  Pve  come  to  see  you,^''  she  said,  very  severely. 

She  could  not  help  herself.  She  knew  that  it  was  every  right- 
minded  woman's  duty  under  these  circumstances  to  be  very,  very 
severe. 

Pietje  moved  a  little  uneasily,  but  did  not  rise.  So,  without 
delay,  Ursula  began  her  lecture.  It  was  very  conscientious  and 
rather  long,  and  all  quite  true  and  exceedingly  severe.     After 

23 


354  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

the  opening  sentences  Pietje's  head  bent  low,  and  about  mid- 
way she  began  to  cry.  She  had  not  cried  much  during  the 
scenes  with  her  father,  and  tears  now  seemed  to  come  to  her  as 
a  pleasurable  relief.  Entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  she 
cried  so  very  loud  that  Ursula's  lecture  had  to  come  to  an  ab- 
rupt conclusion,  tailless,  like  a  Manx  cat.  In  how  far  Pietje 
calculated  on  this  result  none  but  she  may  presume  to  de- 
cide. 

"  So,  of  course,  you  must  go  to  a  reformatory,"  said  Ursula, 
firmly.  "I  am  willing  to  help  you  on  condition  that  you  take 
my  advice." 

"  Don't  want  to  go  to  no  performatory,"  sobbed  Pietje,  with 
vague  perplexities  concerning  circuses  and  ballet  girls.  "  Father 
'11  keep  me  if  I  says  Pm  sorry." 

A  grunt  from  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"  Pietje,  you  have  behaved  very  badly,"  continued  Ursula. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  hardly  understand  the  wickedness  of 
your  act.  You  only  regret  its  unpleasant  results.  No,  Pietje, 
you  are  " — she  felt  it  her  positive,  painful  duty  to  speak  plain- 
ly— "  a  very  wicked,  guilty,  evil-hearted  girl." 

"  Dear  me,  Mevrouw,"  growled  a  voice  half-choked  against  a 
sleeve,  "  can't  you  leave  the  poor  creature  in  peace  ?" 

"  No,Klomp,"  replied  Ursula,  "  'tis  my  duty  to  help  you  both. 
,1  understand  and  appreciate  your  righteous  anger,  but,  fortu- 
nately, /  can  provide  Pietje  with  a  home.  It  is  only  natural 
you  should  not  wish  her  to  remain  near  Mietje." 

At  this  very  moment  Mietje  came  down-stairs. 

"  Father,  here's  your  li — yes,  sister's  going  to  stay  with  me," 
she  said. 

"  Get  you  up-stairs  again,"  shouted  Klomp,  with  a  big  oath, 
*'  and  don't  come  down  till  I  call  you."  He  sat  up,  his  listless 
face  full  of  fire.  "  Now,  Mevrouw,"  he  said,  "  you  just  kindly 
go  back  to  the  Manor-house,  please.  That's  where  you  belong 
— now — and  thank  your  stars  for  it.  And  leave  poor  people 
like  us  to  settle  our  troubles  between  us.  Pietje's  a  poor,  igno- 
rant girl,  and  she  'ain't  got  the  wit  to  go  hunting  for  a  husband 
— least  of  all  in  the  papers.  She  just  took  the  first  villain  that 
came  fooling  her  way." 


THE    FINGER    OF    SCORN  355 

"  But,  Klomp,  I  had  understood — "  began  Ursula,  rising  with 
dignity. 

"  No,  you  hadn't,  m'ra  ;  there's  just  the  mistake.  You  hadn't 
understood  nothing,  begging  your  pardon.  Nor,  in  fact,  you 
needn't.     There  isn't  anything  to  understand." 

He  actually  got  up,  and,  shuffling  across  to  the  door,  he 
opened  it.  There  could  be  no  mistaking  his  exceptional  ear- 
nestness now. 

'*  Well,"  said  Ursula,  gently,  preparing  to  depart,  "  when  you 
want  me,  when  Pietje  wants  me,  send  up  to  the  Manor-house, 
and  I  will  do  whatever  I  can." 

He  bolted  the  door  behind  her. 

"  Father — "  began  Pietje,  timidly. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  he  broke  in.  "  I  don't  want  to  know 
you're  there."  And  he  threw  himself  down  violently  on  his 
bench. 

Ursula  had  nearly  reached  home  before  the  meaning  of 
Klomp's  attack  recoiled  upon  her  brain.  "  Looking  for  a  hus- 
band in  the  papers."  Suddenly  she  understood.  It  was  the 
old  story  of  the  trysting-place  cropping  up  again.  Not  for 
nothing  had  Adeline  stayed  with  the  Klomps !  Her  brow  man- 
tled, and  with  quite  unusual  hauteur  she  acknowledged  the  sa- 
lute of  two  passing  laborers. 

The  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Stuck  up,  ain't  she  ?" 

"  Yes  " — with  immediate  oblivion  of  all  former  graciousness 
— "  so  she  alius  was." 

The  old  Baroness  received  her  daughter-in-law  in  a  tremble 
of  pink-spotted  excitement.  There  were  letters  from  Acheen — 
exceedingly  important  letters !  Ursula  must  sit  down  at  once 
and  listen.  Gerard  had  been  in  action.  Gerard  had  done  some- 
thing wonderfully  brave.  He  had  been  just  a  little  bit  wounded 
in  doing  it — oh,  nothing,  the  merest  scratch ;  but  it  happened 
to  be  the  right  hand,  so  a  comrade  wrote  for  him.  He  was  go- 
ing to  be  rewarded  in  some  magnificent  manner — made  a  colo- 
nel ? — and  the  deed  had  been  so  very  brave  he  would  probably 
soon  be  sent  home  again.      That  was  the  Dowager's  reward. 


356  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Sent  home  ?"  repeated  Ursula,  motionless  in  her  chair. 
"  Mamma,  did  you  say  he  was  wounded  ?" 

"  Oh,  the  merest  scratch,"  replied  the  Dowager,  testily.  '*  He 
says  so  himself.  Ursula,  you  always  try  to  make  people  ner- 
vous. Gerard  never  lied  to  me.  And,  you  see,  he  is  coming  back. 
If  he  were  really  hurt  he  would  never  undertake  so  long  a  jour- 
ney. I  remember  my  poor  dear  husband  " — she  always  avoided, 
if  possible,  saying  "  papa  "  to  Ursula — "  once  cut  his  hand  with 
a  bread-knife  so  badly  that  he  couldn't  use  it  for  nearly  a 
month." 

"  Oh  yes,"  admitted  Ursula,  hastily.  "  Yes — yes,  I  dare  say 
it  is  nothing.  I  am  glad,  mamma,  I  am  glad.  I  am  proud  of 
him." 

"You!"  replied  the  old  Baroness,  quite  rudely, in  a  tone  alto- 
gether strange.  "  What  is  he  to  you  ?  When  he  comes  back, 
Ursula,  he  will  take  away  the  Horst." 

"  I  dare  him  to  do  it !"  said  Ursula,  fiercely.  She  drew  her- 
self up,  looking  down  on  the  poor  little  heap  of  ruffles  by  the 
writing-table.  Some  moments  elapsed  before  she  spoke  again. 
"  I  found  the  letter  you  were  looking  for,  mamma,"  she  said, 
and  her  voice  had  grown  quite  gentle ;  "  it  is  one  from  the  late 
Prince  Henry  to  papa." 

"Thank  you,  Ursula.  I  am  afraid  I  was  rude  to  you  just 
now.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  rude  to  you,  nor  to  any  one.  It  is 
not  in  my  nature  to  be  rude.  But  this  news  from  Acheen  has 
excited  me.  I  am  not  as  young  as  I  was  " — she  peered  across, 
with  a  quick  glance  of  anxiety,  at  her  daughter-in-law—"  yet  I 
am  thankful  to  reflect  that  Gerard,  when  he  comes,  will  find  me 
but  very  little  changed." 

The  Freule  Louisa  came  in.  "Have  you  heard?"  she  asked. 
"  Now,  that's  the  kind  of  thing  I  like,  and  I  never  expected  it 
of  Gerard.  I  always  thought  Gerard  was  a  bit  of  a  coward,  a 
curled  darling  of  the  drawing-room,  like  Plush.  Didn't  you, 
Ursula  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Ursula. 

Freule  Louisa  giggled  suddenly.  "  Well,  I  dare  say  you  knew 
better,"  she  said.  "Only  I  hope  he  won't  come  back  too 
soon." 


THE    FINGER    OF    SCORN  357 

"Why?  What?"  exclaimed  the  Dowager.  Ursula  had  left 
the  room. 

"  Because  Tryphena  has  just  sent  him  out  a  large  box  of 
Javanese  tracts  to  get  distributed  among  the  enemy.  We  feel 
that  the  Achinese  should  not  be  killed,  but  Christianized.  Ur- 
sula's father  behaved  very  badly  about  the  tracts.  He  said 
that  the  only  way  to  get  them  '  sent  on '  would  be  for  the  sol- 
diers to  wrap  their  bullets  in  them.  Scandalous,  for  a  Christian 
minister,  and  so  I  told  Josine." 

"  Louisa — " 

"  And  he  says,  besides,  that  the  Achinese  don't  know  the 
language." 

"  Louisa — " 

"  As  if  they  couldn't  learn.  I  dare  say  there  isn't  much 
difference." 

*'  Louisa,  when  Gerard  comes  he  will  send  Ursula  back  to  her 
father." 

"  I  doubt  it.     You  know,  /  have  always  said — " 

"  Don't  say  it  again  ;  it  sounds  like — like  blasphemy." 

The  Dowager  seemed  for  the  moment  to  recover  all  her  in- 
tellectual force. 

*'  He  will  take  back  the  Horst — do  you  hear  ?  They  dare  not 
refuse  it  him  after  what  he  has  done.  And  he  will  marry  money. 
Then  nothing  will  be  left  me  to  do  after  I  have  seen  him  except 
to  finish  my  Memoir  before  I  depart  in  peace.  I  should  like  to 
tell  Theodore  that  the  Memoir  was  finished." 

"If  he  is  going  to  prove  so  strong  a  man,"  replied  Aunt  Lou- 
isa, "  I  think  I  shall  leave  him  what  little  money  I  possess.  But 
what  is  that  ?  A  mere  drop  in  the  ocean.  I  am  a  poor  woman, 
Cecile,  as  you  know." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

ARRESTED 

That  evening  some  household  duty  called  Ursula  into  the 
unused  up-stairs  corridor,  which  as  a  rule  she  avoided.  And  as 
she  passed  the  "  Death-rooms  "  she  very  nearly  came  into  col- 
lision with  Hephzibah,  issuing  from  them,  eyelids  downcast. 

Ursula  felt  that  the  woman  had  been  watching  her,  as  usual. 
And  although,  as  a  rule,  she  resisted  the  feeling,  to-day,  by  a 
sudden  impulse,  she  turned  like  a  dog  at  bay. 

"If  it  makes  you  uncomfortable,  why  do  you  come  here  at 
all  ?"  she  said. 

"  Why  do  you  ?"  retorted  the  woman,  adding  "  Mevrouw." 

"  I  never  do  ;  I  was  only  passing,"  said  Ursula. 

"  Ah,  you  daren't.  But  I  must.  I  can't  help  myself.  I 
can't  rest  down-stairs.  I  seem  to  hear  it  calling  to  me  all  the 
time.  Mevrouw,  it  drags  me  up.  There's  guilt  in  this  house. 
It  won't  sleep." 

Ursula  leaned  up  against  the  wall  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Have  you  anything  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  Hephzibah  ?" 
she  replied.     "  If  so,  say  it." 

The  woman  hesitated. 

"  No,  I've  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  she  began,  slowly.  "  I 
suppose  it's  true,  Mevrouw,  that  the  Jonker  is  coming  home  ?" 

"  Of  course  it's  true." 

Hephzibah  began  moving  away. 

"  If  you  go  in  there,  Mevrouw,"  she  said,  "  perhaps  you'll 
hear  it  to-night.  It's  groaning  and  gasping  worse  than  ever 
to-night." 

She  ran  down  the  long  passage. 

"O  Lord!      O  Lord,  have  mercy!"  she  murmured.     "I've 


ARRESTED  359 

done  what  I  could  to  make  amends.  I  thonght,  after  what  I'd 
done,  I  should  never  hear  it  again.  O  Lord,  I'm  not  a  bad 
woman !  There's  those  sit  in  high  places  is  a  great  deal  worse 
than  me." 

"  The  creature  is  crazy,"  said  Ursula,  aloud,  as  she  pushed 
open  the  door  of  the  antechamber. 

In  the  inner  room  all  was  dark  and  still.  Ursula  shut  herself 
in,  and  sank  down  by  the  bed. 

"  Otto,  I  have  done  my  best,"  she  said. 

An  immense  weight  of  guilt  lay  upon  her.  Gerard  was 
grievously  wounded,  was  dying;  perhaps  already  dead.  Who 
could  tell  what  was  happening  out  yonder,  in  the  fatal  sun- 
blaze?  Before  a  message  could  be  flashed  across  the  waters 
his  body  would  already  lie  rotting  in  the  red-hot  ground.  And 
his  soul,  for  all  she  knew,  might  be  standing,  even  now,  by  her 
side. 

"Gerard,  I  have  done  it  for  the  best,"  she  whispered. 

But  the  words  brought  her  no  relief.  She  knew  that  if  this 
man  died  his  life  would  be  required  at  her  hands.  And  if  he 
returned  alive,  yet  broken  in  health,  mutilated,  crushed,  she 
would  have  to  confront  him  ever  after,  reading  in  every  furrow 
of  his  forehead  the  charge  against  herself. 

"  I  have  done  right,"  she  gasped.  "  I  could  not  do  other- 
wise.    I  have  done  right." 

And  her  thoughts  went  back  to  Otto,  dying  here,  gasping 
out  with  every  successive  stifle  his  last,  his  only  appeal.  For  a 
long  time  she  knelt  there,  her  face  upon  her  hands. 

"  If  only  some  one  would  answer !"  she  thought.  "  If  only 
one  of  them  would  speak!" 

The  place  was  very  silent.  She  could  hear  the  dog  Monk 
sniffing  and  vaguely  whining  beyond  the  outer  door. 

"  If  only  Otto  would  answer  me !  If  only  he  would  release 
me  !  What  am  I  that  I  must  bear  this  weight  single-handed  ? 
If  only  I  knew — if  only  I  knew !" 

A  great  agony  fell  upon  her,  such  as  was  strange  to  her 
strong  and  steadfast  nature.  She  wrung  her  hands,  and,  pros- 
trate against  the  oaken,  empty  bedstead,  in  impotent  protest,  she 
moaned  softly  through  the  darkness. 


860  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Suddenly  some  one  —  something— r- struck  her  through  the 
darkness,  heavily  ;  she  fell  back,  losing  consciousness,  across  the 
floor. 

When  she  opened  her  eyes  they  rested  on  Hephzibah.  The 
waiting -woman  knelt,  with  a  crazed  expression  on  her  white 
face,  peering  close  down  upon  Ursula,  by  the  faint  glimmer  of 
a  night-lamp  on  the  floor.  Ursula  shuddered,  and  dropped  her 
eyes  again. 

"  Not  dead !"  exclaimed  Hephzibah,  in  a  distinctly  disap- 
pointed tone. 

This  touch  of  involuntary  humor  restored  the  invalid.  She 
tried  to  sit  up,  and  lifted  one  hand  to  her  hair,  which  seemed  to 
have  grown  oppressively  warm  and  unsettled.  She  brought  away 
her  fingers  covered  with  blood. 

"  I  am  bleeding  still,"  she  said.  "  What  has  happened,  Heph- 
zibah ?     Help  me,  please." 

The  woman  pointed  impressively  to  a  clumsy  carved  orna- 
ment lying  near  her,  which  had  fallen  from  among  several  others 
placed  on  the  rickety  canopy  of  the  bed. 

"  That  struck  you,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  it  had  killed  you. 
'Judgment  is  mine,'  saith  the  Lord." 

Ursula  staggered  to  her  feet.  She  became  conscious  of  the 
great  dog  standing  close  beside  her — attentive,  benevolent.  His 
deep  eyes  met  hers ;  they  were  overflowing  with  sympathy. 
Steadily  gazing,  he  wagged  his  tail. 

"  Help  me  to  my  room,"  commanded  Ursula.  "  There  is  no 
necessity  for  saying  anything  more.  Get  me  some  water."  She 
gave  her  orders  calmly,  and  the  woman  obeyed  them.  "  Leave 
me,"  said  Ursula,  at  last,  lying  back  on  a  sofa  with  a  bandage 
over  her  brow. 

As  soon  as  she  was  alone  she  got  up,  still  dizzy,  and  rang  the 
bell. 

"  The  brougham,"  she  said  to  the  man. 

He  hesitated,  in  doubt  if  he  could  possibly  have  heard  aright. 

"  The  brougham,"  she  repeated.  "  Tell  Piet  to  get  it  ready 
as  soon  as  possible.     I  am  going  far." 

"  Your  nobleness  is  not  hurt  V  he  stammered. 

"  No,  no.     Be  quick."    She  hastily  found  a  hat  and  mantle — 


ARRESTED  361 

she  had  recently  laid  aside  her  mourning — and  then  waited  till 
the  carriage  was  announced. 

"  To  the  notary,"  she  said.  "  Tell  Mevrouw  that  I  shall  not 
be  back  till  late." 

Mynheer  Noks  lived  some  way  out,  on  the  farther  side  of 
Horstwyk.  The  coachman,  unaccustomed  to  any  sudden  or- 
ders, whipped  up  his  horse  in  surly  surprise,  and  reflected  on 
the  chances  of  meeting  the  steam-tram. 

His  mistress  did  not  think  of  the  steam-tram  to-day,  often  as 
she  recalled,  in  passing  it,  her  wild  drive  with  Otto,  and  Beau- 
ty's cruel  death.  To-day  she  sat  motionless  in  the  little  close 
carriage,  watching  the  lamps  go  flashing  across  the  road-side  trees 
in  a  weary  monotony  of  change. 

'*  If  it  had  killed  me !"  that  was  all  her  thought.  She  had 
never  realized  till  this  moment  the  possibility  of  immediate 
death.  There  would  always  be  time,  she  had  reasoned,  for  final 
arrangements,  death-bed"* scenes.  People  did  not  die  without  an 
illness,  however  sudden.  Besides,  when  she  had  risen  from  the 
long  prostration  of  her  early  widowhood,  "  God  has  not  permit- 
ted me  to  die,"  she  had  said.   "  He  knew  I  had  a  mission  to  fulfil." 

And  now — supposing  she  had  never  regained  consciousness  ? 

She  saw  the  lights  of  Horstwyk  pass  by,  and  wondered  if  she 
should  never  reach  the  notary's,  and  reproached  herself  for  her 
foolishness. 

"  The  notary  is  in  ?"  she  asked,  eagerly,  at  his  door. 

Yes,  the  notary  was  in.  He  was  entertaining  some  friends  at 
dinner.  Ursula  drew  back.  "  Show  me  into  an  oflSce,  or  some 
such  place,"  she  said.  The  notary,  convivial  in  dress  and  appear- 
ance, came  to  her  in  a  little  chilly  back  room,  full  of  inkstains 
and  dusty  deeds. 

"  Nothing  is  wrong,  I  hope,"  he  began ;  then,  noticing  the 
queer  bandage  under  Ursula's  dark-red  bonnet,  "  You  have  had 
an  accident?" 

*'  No,"  replied  Ursula.  "  Mynheer  Noks,  I  am  sorry  to  dis- 
turb you  just  now,  but  I  can't  wait.  If  I  were  to  die  to-night, 
who  would  be  my  heir  ?" 

"That  depends  upon  whether  you  have  made  a  will,"  replied 
the  notary. 


3G2  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I  have  not  made  a  will." 

"  In  that  case  your  father  is  your  natural  heir." 

"  So  I  thought.  Then,  notary,  I  must  request  you — I  am  very 
sorry  to  trouble  you — but  I  must  request  you  to  make  my  will 
to-night." 

"  My  dear  lady,  certainly.  I  presume  you  have  brought  your 
written  instructions?  Leave  them  with  me,  and  to-morrow  I 
will  bring  up  a  draft  which  we  can  .talk  over  together."  Ursula 
stopped  him  by  a  gesture. 

"  I  must  have  the  document  signed  and  sealed,"  she  said, 
"  with  its  full  legal  value,  to-night." 

The  notary  stared  at  her;  then  he  looked  ruefully  down  at 
his  resplendent,  though  already  much  crumpled,  dress-shirt. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  continued  Ursula,  desperately.  "  It  will 
only  take  you  a  moment — " 

"Only  a  moment !  Dear  madame,  documents  of  such  impor- 
tance— " 

"  Yes,  only  a  moment.     Just  two  sentences.     That  is  all." 

The  notary  sat  down  with  a  sigh,  and  drew  forward  a  sheet 
of  paper.  "  You  wish  to  say  ?"  he  asked,  and  shivered — twice. 
The  first  shiver  was  real,  the  second  ostentatious. 

The  second  caused  Ursula  to  disbelieve  both. 

"  Only  this :  if  I  die  without  other  arrangements — " 

"  Pardon  me.  I  must  already  interrupt  you.  You  cannot 
die  '  with  other  arrangements ' — the  expression  is  exceedingly 
faulty — if  you  make  a  will." 

"  I  can  alter  it,  surely  !"  exclaimed  Ursula. 

"  Only  by  another  will."  The  notary  sighed  and  looked  at 
the  clock.     Quarter-past  ten. 

"  Very  well.  I  wish  everything  I  possess  to  pass  uncondi- 
tionally to  my  brother-in-law,  the  Baron  van  Helmont." 

The  notary  gave  a  visible  start,  and  pricked  his  pen  into  the 
great  sheet  of  paper.  He  nodded  his  head  with  complacent  ap- 
proval. 

"  Should  he  be  dead,"  continued  Ursula,  "  I  wish  it  to  belong 
to  his  cousin,  the  Jonker  Theodore.     That  is  all." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  notary.  "  Quite  right.  And  now, 
Mevrouw,  I  have  only  one  objection." 


ARRESTED  363 

"  No  objection,"  interrupted  Ursula,  vehemently.  "  There  is 
none.     Surely  you  have  understood  me  ?" 

"  I  have  understood  you,  but  the  objection  remains.  The 
thing-  can't  be  done.     That  is  all." 

Ursula  started  up. 

"  Can't  be  done  !"  she  cried.  "  I  am  the  best  judge,  Mynheer 
Noks,  of  what  I  choose  to  do  with  my  own.  I  understand  your 
being  vexed  at  my  disturbing  your  party ;  but  if  you  refuse  to 
draw  up  my  will  as  I  desire,  I  shall  drive  on  till  the  horse  drops, 
in  search  of  another  attorney."  She  trembled  from  head  to 
foot. 

But  the  lawyer  was  also  exceedingly  angry.  He  had  always, 
since  Otto's  death,  disliked  and  distrusted  "  My  Lady." 

"  You  may  drive  to  Drum,  if  you  wish  to,"  he  replied,  "  but 
you  won't  find  a  lawyer  who  can  alter  the  law.  No,  Mevrouw, 
nor  can  I,  even  though  you  disturb  my  party  to  get  it  done.  Be 
sure  that  Pd  draw  up  a  deed  of  gift,  if  you  chose,  this  minute ; 
but  the  law's  stronger  than  you  or  I.  And  as  long  as  your 
father  lives  he  must  come  into  half  of  your  property." 

"  My  father  !"  repeated  Ursula.  "  Do  you  mean  that  I  cannot 
disinherit  him  ?" 

"  You  cannot.  If  you  happen  to  die  before  him,  half  of  your 
possessions  must  pass  to  him.  That  is  the  law  of  the  land  ;  and, 
as  I  remarked,  the  law  is  stronger  than  you  or  I." 

*'  It  is  stronger  than  justice,"  said  Ursula. 

The  notary  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  The  case  is  altogether  exceptional,"  he  answered.  Again 
he  shivered,  and  looked  at  the  clock.  "  So  I  suppose  we  may 
as  well  leave  the  will-making  to  a  more  convenient  occasion,"  he 
added,  half  rising. 

"  No,"  replied  Ursula,  with  an  imperious  movement ;  '*  make 
it  at  once,  if  you  please,  just  as  I  said.  Never  mind  its  being- 
illegal.     YoLi  will  be  law,  and  my  father  justice." 

•'  It  is  exceedingly  incorrect,"  said  the  notary. 

"A  great  race  like  that  of  the  Van  Helmonts  cannot  let  itself 
be  tied  down  by  every  paltry  police  regulation,"  replied  Ursula, 
proudly.  How  often  had  she  said  so  to  herself,  remembering 
her  first  experience  of  Gerard's  hauteur  at  the  railway  station, 


364  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

hammering  the  thought  firmly  into  her  "bourgeois"  heart:  the 
high-born  are  a  law  unto  themselves !  So  Gerard  had  under- 
stood, so  Otto,  and  so  she  herself. 

"  Write  it  down,"  she  said,  "  and  leave  the  rest  to  us." 

"  Now,  at  once  ?" 

She  clinched  her  hands  to  avoid  stamping  forth  her  impa- 
tience. 

"  Now,  at  once,"  she  said. 

"  But  there  must  be  witnesses,  Mevrouw." 

"  Must  there  ?  Well,  there  are  the  servants,  if  some  one  can 
hold  the  horse,  and — "     She  stopped. 

"  Witnesses,"  she  repeated.  "  You  mean  people  who  must 
learn  what  I  have  just  told  you?  Oh,  but  that  is  infamous! 
No,  no!  Do  you  hear?  I  will  not  have  it.  I  don't  care  for 
your  infamous  laws.  What  I  have  said  is  between  you  and  me. 
As  long  as  I  live  no  '  witnesses '  shall  know  it." 

"  You  wish  to  make  a  secret  will,"  replied  the  lawyer,  coldly. 
"  Well,  there  is  no  objection  to  that.  I  will  write  it  out  for  you, 
and  you  can  copy  and  seal  it.  Then  I  draw  up  a  deed  of  de- 
posit, and  the  witnesses  only  witness  that  deed.  But  all  this 
will  take  time.  My  guests  will  be  thinking  of  departing.  My 
wife—" 

"  Draw  up  a  form,"  exclaimed  Ursula ;  "  I  will  copy  it  to- 
night. My  father  and  Gerard  will  respect  my  plainly  stated 
wishes,  even  if — something  were  to  happen  to-night." 

Her  voice  dropped. 

The  notary  glanced  sideways,  as  he  wrote,  at  the  tall  figure 
pacing  restlessly  to  and  fro.  She  was  not  natural,  not  herself ; 
and  herself,  in  his  eyes,  was  strange  enough  for  anything.  That 
bandage  !  How  had  she  come  by  so  sudden  a  wound  ?  AVhat 
was  the  meaning  of  this  unseemly  hurry?  He  wondered  un- 
easily whether  this  strange  woman  was  minded  to  make  away 
with  herself.  He  resolved  to  do  what  he  could  to  prevent  it — 
a  Christian  duty,  if  rather  an  unwilling  one. 

"  Here  is  the  paper,"  he  said,  rising.  "  Nothing  more  can, 
with  decency,  be  done  to-night.  It  has,  you  will  understand, 
not  the  slightest  legal  value." 

"Give  it  me,"  she  replied;  "I  shall  expect  you  to-morrow 


ARRESTED  365 

morning  with  your  clerks.  Thank  you ;  I  am  sorry  I  was 
obliged  to  disturb  you.  Mynheer  Noks.  Can  I  pass  out  unob- 
served ?" 

He  unlocked  the  office  entrance  for  her,  holding  up  the  oil- 
lamp.     Under  the  little  portico  she  looked  back. 

"  I  do  believe,"  she  said,  "  you  think  I  am  going  to  kill  my- 
self." 

"  Mevrouw  I"  he  stammered,  horrified,  over  the  wine-stain  on 
his  shirt-front — "  Mevrouw  !" 

"  Set  your  mind  at  rest,  my  good  notary.  Only  fools  think 
they  can  kill  themselves.  God  has  not  made  life  quite  so  easy 
as  that." 

The  carriage-lights  came  twisting  round  to  the  little  side  gate. 
As  the  footman  held  open  the  door  there  was  a  glitter  of  pol- 
ished glass  and  a  cosey  vision  of  shaded  silk. 

*'  Come  to-morrow  morning  early,"  said  Ursula,  with  her  foot 
on  the  step,  "  and  you  shall  have  one  of  my  poor  father-in-law's 
regalias." 

As  soon  as  she  knew  herself  to  be  out  of  sight  she  pulled 
the  check-string  and  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the  Par- 
sonage. 

"There  goes  eleven  o'clock,"  said  Piet  to  his  companion. 
"  One  would  think  there  was  truth  in  what  people  say." 

"  What  do  people  say  ?"  asked  the  footman. 

"  Why,  that  Mevrouw  likes  being  out  by  herself  of  nights. 
At  the  tavern  they  were  calling  her  '  night-bird.'  " 

"  I  know  what  they  used  to  call  her,"  grinned  the  fresh-faced 
young  footman.     "  It  used  to  be  Baroness  Nobody." 

"Oh,  every  one  knows  that.  But  hold  your  tongue.  The 
Jonker  Gerard  never  would  allow  a  whisper  on  the  box.  He 
seemed  to  hear  you  in  the  middle  of  the  night." 

"  The  Jonker  Gerard  was  a  real  gentleman,"  replied  the  foot- 
man, crossing  his  arms. 

Ursula,  as  the  carriage  neared  her  old  home,  looked  out  anx- 
iously, seeking  for  the  light  above  the  hall-door.  It  was  gone ; 
yet  she  knew  her  father  to  be  in  the  habit  of  sitting  up  late. 
She  lifted  the  carriage-clock  to  the  ray  from  one  of  the  lanterns: 
a  quarter-past  eleven. 


366  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Let  me  out,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  go  round  to  the  back." 

For  a  moment  she  stood,  in  the  chill  night,  by  the  study  win- 
dow, listening.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  was  acting 
foolishly ;  but  that  seemed  no  reason  for  leaving  off. 

"  I  must  do  it  to-night,"  she  said  ;  "  I  cannot  sleep  until  it  is 
done." 

She  knocked  at  the  window,  timidly,  terrified  at  the  prospect 
of  meeting  with  no  response.  The  soughing  of  the  trees  struck 
cold  upon  her  heart. 

"Father!"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  note  of  pain.  "Father! 
Father !" 

Somebody  moved  inside,  and  soon  the  heavy  shutters,  falling 
back,  revealed  the  Domine's  mildly  astonished  face  against  the 
large  French  window. 

Ursula  brushed  past  him  and  threw  herself  into  the  faded 
old  leather  chair.  She  looked  up  into  his  questioning  eyes  for 
one  long  moment ;  then,  as  the  home-feel  of  it  all  came  over  her 
— the  room,  the  books,  the  loving  countenance — she  dropped 
forward  on  her  hands  and  broke  into  convulsive  weeping. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  she  stammered  between  her  sobs. 
"  Nothing  has  happened.  It's  only — only — "  She  wept  on 
silently.  Presently  she  dried  her  eyes.  "  It's  only — nothing," 
she  said,  smiling.  "  I  am  stupid.  I  have  come  to  you  for 
courage.  Captain,  as  when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

The  Domine  laid  his  single  hand  upon  his  daughter's  head, 
and  under  his  gaze  she  found  it  very  difficult  to  keep  to  her 
brave  resolve. 

"  No,  no,  you  must  scold  me,"  she  said.  "That  is  not  the  way." 

"You  do  the  scolding  yourself,  child.  It  is  only  fair  that 
one  of  us  should  attempt  the  comforting.  Have  you  hurt  your 
forehead  ?" 

"Yes,"  repHed  Ursula,  quickly.  "It  is  not  much,  but  it  has 
upset  me.     It  has  upset  me,  you  see." 

"  Ursula,  Ursula,  when  a  woman  like  you  finds  cause  for 
tears,  a  bodily  pain  comes  almost  like  a  diversion.  Dear  child, 
I  know  your  path  is  far  from  smooth.  Sometimes  I  wonder 
whether  we  did  right.     It  seems  to  me  as  if,  with  you,  it  would 


ARRESTED  367 

"  You  ought  to  be  proud  of  my  career,"  said  Ursula,  still 
resolutely  smiling. 

"  And,  I  know,  the  home-cross  is  the  worst  cross,"  continued 
the  Domine,  as  his  eyes  involuntarily  wandered  to  a  simpering 
portrait  of  Josine  upon  his  writing-table.  "Attack  is  not  so 
hard,  as  all  young  soldiers  soon  find  out.  It  is  standing  patient 
under  fire." 

"  You  pity  me.  You  encourage  me,"  said  Ursula,  with  sud- 
den vehemence.  "You  think  I  am  not  to  blame.  But  if  I 
were  to  blame  for  my  misfortunes  ?  If  I  were  wrong  ?  If  I  had 
brought  them  on  myself  ?"     She  looked  up  anxiously. 

"  I  should  pity  you  all  the  more." 

"  Father" — Ursula  rose — "  do  you  think  I  could  ever  become 
a  criminal?" 

"  Let  him  that  standeth,"  replied  the  Domine,  "  take  heed 
lest  he  fall." 

"  And  if  he  be  fallen  already  ?" 

"  There  is  no  better  posture  for  prayer." 

The  little  room,  so  warm,  so  anheimelnd^  grew  very  still.  At 
that  moment,  perhaps,  Ursula  would  have  confessed  every- 
thing. 

But  before  she  could  utter  another  word  the  door  was 
thrown  violently  open,  and  Miss  Mopius,  in  a  red  flannel  bed- 
gown and  nightcap,  rushed  over  the  threshold  with  a  reckless- 
ness which  entangled  her  in  the  Domine's  paper  -  basket,  and 
precipitated  her,  a  brilliant  bundle  of  color,  on  the  hearth- 
rug. 

"  I  wish  you  would  knock !"  cried  the  Domine,  irrational 
from  sheer  annoyance.  Ursula  had  started  back  into  the  shade, 
and  her  aunt  did  not  at  first  perceive  her. 

"  Roderigue,"  gasped  Miss  Mopius,  "  there  are  thieves  in  the 
house !" 

Burglary  was  Miss  Mopius's  most  persistent  bugbear. 

"  What?     Again  ?"  said  the  Domine. 

"  Hush.     Not  so  loud.     This  time  I  distinctly  heard  them." 

"You  always  do,"  interrupted  the  Domine,  who  was  an 
angel,  but  angry. 

"  At  the  window  just  under  me,  as  I  awoke  from  a  restless 


368  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

sleep,  I  heard  them,  Roderigue.  And  I  saw  them.  I  saw  two 
figures  stealthily  creeping.  Ah !"  Miss  Mopius,  who  had 
hissed  out  all  this  from  the  landing,  now  clutched  her  brother- 
in-law's  arm.  "  We  shall  be  murdered,"  she  sobbed.  "  Shut 
the  door,  Roderigue ;  lock  it.  I  don't  know  how  I  ever  man- 
aged to  summon  up  courage  to  come  down." 

She  gave  a  shrill  scream  as  something  moved  behind  her. 
Ursula  stepped  forward. 

"  Fear  sees  every  danger  double,"  said  the  Domine,  with  a 
smile  to  his  daughter.  "  Go  up-stairs  again,  Josine,  and  take 
some  of  your  Lob." 

"Ursula!"  cried  Miss  Mopius,  in  a  fury — "Ursula,  if  I  die, 
my  blood  will  be  on  your  head !  I  was  ill  enough,  Heaven 
knows,  this  evening,  and  now  I  shall  have  a  sleepless  night." 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  side.  "  Ah  !"  she  said.  "  Ah  !"  Her 
face  was  deadly  pale.  "  It  is  not  enough  that  I  devote  my 
whole  life  to  your  poor  old  father,  while  you — live  in  luxury 
and  pomp." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  answered  Ursula,  lamely.  "  You  have 
dropped  all  the  Sympathetico  on  the  carpet." 

It  was  too  true,  and  this  misfortune  annihilated  Josine.  In 
her  hand  she  held  the  bottle,  from  which  the  stopper  had  es- 
caped as  she  fell. 

"  I  had  forgotten  it,"  she  said.  "  I  had  to  take  some  before 
venturing  down.  Now  I  sha'n't  get  a  wink  of  sleep.  But  I 
shouldn't  have  got  that,  anyhow."  She  shuffled  towards  the 
door.  "Roderigue,  would  you  mind  watching  me  up  the  stairs? 
I  certainly  saw  two  men.  But,  of  course,  it  is  very  dark.  Is 
Ursula  going  to  stay  all  night?"  Up-stairs,  at  her  bedroom 
door,  she  turned.     "Nothing  wrong,  I  suppose,  at  the  Horst?" 

"  No,"  called  back  the  Domine  from  the  hall. 

"  Of  course  not  —  only  mad  pranks.  Ursula's  behavior  is 
criminal." 

The  Domine's  thoughts  lingered  over  this  last  word  as  he  re- 
turned to  his  daughter.  "  She  did  not  even  observe  your  band- 
age !"  he  said. 

"  The  room  is  dark,"  replied  Ursula.  "  I  am  going  now,  but 
I  just  wanted  to  ask  you  this.     I  came  to  ask  it.     By-the-bye, 


ARRESTED  369 

Captain,  did  you  know  that  if  I  were  to  die  you  would  succeed 
to  the  Horst  and  the  Manor  of  Horstwyk  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  knew,"  replied  the  Domine,  gravely.  "  But  you  are 
young,  and  I  am  old." 

"  Captain,  dear,  if  ever  you  own  the  Horst,  I  want  you  to 
give  it  to  Gerard." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Domine,  more  gravely  still. 

"  You  will,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Let  me  ask  you  another  question :  Why  don't  you  give  it 
to  Gerard,  then  ?" 

She  faced  him.  "  Because  I  can't,"  she  said.  "  Don't  ask 
me,  father.     It  isn't  mine  to  give." 

"  Ursula,  that  would  be  exactly  my  standpoint.  Property  is 
never  ours  ;  we  are  God's  stewards.  And  if  I  became  owner  of 
this  great  estate — God  forbid,  child,  God  forbid  ! — T  should 
hardly  deem  it  right  to  disannul  my  responsibilities  by  aban- 
doning them  to  another  man." 

"  You  think  the  property  is  better  in  other  hands  ?"  cried 
Ursula,  eagerly. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  say  that  of  Gerard,"  replied  the  Domine, 
gently.  "  Responsibility  changes  character  ;  even  the  reckless 
Alcibiades  felt  as  much.  Still,  I  cannot  help  observing,  Ursula, 
in  what  a  marvellous,  I  might  well  say  miraculous,  manner  the 
estate  has  passed  away  from  Gerard,  to  fall  into  your  hands. 
Surely,  if  ever  man  can  trace  Divine  interference,  it  is  here. 
No,  Ursula,  inexplicable  as  the  course  of  events  would  be  to 
me,  I  see  God's  action  in  them  too  plainly  to  venture  on  re- 
sistance. Never  should  I  dare^  child,  to  return  the  estate  to 
Gerard.  God,  in  prolonging  your  child's  frail  life  for  those  few 
minutes,  God  himself  took  it  from  him.^^ 

Ursula  fell  back  to  the  door.  "  And  afterwards  ?"  she  stam- 
mered.    "  Afterwards  ?" 

''  The  afterwards  is  God's.  It  is  only  when  every  soldier 
plays  general  that  God's  war  goes  wrong.  But,  dear  girl,  you 
are  young ;  I  am  old  ;  we  are  all,  young  and  old,  in  His  hands." 

"  Let  me  go  away,  father,"  gasped  Ursula,  putting  out  her 
hands  as  if  to  keep  him  from  her.  "  It  is  near  midnight.  I 
must  go  home.     The  servants  won't  understand." 

24 


370  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

He  led  her  to  the  carriage,  out  into  the  night  wind  again. 

"  Obey  orders,"  he  said,  softly.  *'  It's  so  magnificently  sim- 
ple— like  Balaclava.  Says  the  private :  The  general  may  be 
wrong,  but  I,  if  I  obey,  mws^  be  right.  And  our  General  cannot 
be  wrong."  He  leaned  over  the  door  of  the  brougham  in  clos- 
ing it.  "  Be  of  good  courage,"  he  whispered.  "  I  have  over- 
come the  world." 

She  caught  at  his  hand  and  kissed  it  in  the  presence  of  her 
sleepily  staring  footman.  Then  she  sank  back  among  the 
cushions  as  the  brougham  rolled  away. 

"  Divine  interference,"  she  murmured — "  Divine  interference. 
Oh,  my  God  !  my  God  !" 

The  Domine  stood  watching  her  away  into  the  darkness. 

"  Ursula  and  Gerard  !"  he  reflected.  "  Had  Gerard  but  acted 
differently  !  How  I  wish  it  could  have  been !  For  to  human 
perceptions  the  estate  seems  rightfully  his.  I  trust  I  have 
entirely  forgiven  Otto  the  wrong  he  did  my  child  !" 

He  had  done  so,  fully ;  but  a  doubt  of  the  fulness  was  one 
of  his  most  constant  troubles. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

AFRAID 

"  Ursula,  you  look  ghastly,"  said  Xante  Louisa  at  breakfast 
next  morning,  "  and  the  whole  house  is  full  of  your  gaddings 
about." 

"  Ursula,"  said  the  Dowager,  spilling  her  egg,  "  have  I  told 
you  that  Gerard  is  coming  back  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  knows,"  interposed  the  Freule,  hastily.  "  I  can 
assure  you,  Ursula,  that  the  servants  disapprove." 

"  The  servants!"  echoed  Ursula,  with  such  immeasurable  scorn 
of  the  speaker  that  the  latter  could  not  but  feel  somewhat  ashamed. 

"  No  one  can  afford  to  brave  his  servants'  opinion,"  the 
Freule  rejoined,  with  asperity.  "  No,  not  the  bravest.  Even 
Caesar  said  he  was  glad  to  feel  sure  that  all  the  servants  thought 
well  of  Copernica.  You  will  find  out  your  mistake  too  late,  if 
once  the  servants  are  against  you." 

"Everybody  is  against  me,"  replied  Ursula,  bitterly. 

"  Now,  Ursula,  how  unjust  that  is  !  I  am  sure,  not  to  speak 
of  myself,  your  dear  mother  here  has  always  shown  you  the 
greatest  consideration." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  and  my  father,  too  !"  exclaimed  Ursula.  "  I 
was  not  thinking  of  them.  And  the  villagers.  And  the  peo- 
ple at  the  Hemel.     They  all  love  me,  too." 

"  It  is  for  the  Helmonts'  sake,  then,"  mumbled  the  Dowager. 
"  They  all  love  the  Helmonts." 

"  They  don't  love  you,  and  you  know  it,"  said  Freule  van 
Borck,  incisively.  "  As  for  me,  of  course  I  admire  those  who 
dare  to  confront  popular  hate.  *  Drive  over  the  dogs !'  That 
would  be  my  theory.  I  envy  the  woman  who  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  saying  it.     All  I  advise  is — take  care." 


372  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I  do,"  replied  Ursula, "  of  them  all,  as  much  as  my  limited 
means  allow.     And  this  is  the  way  they  repay  me." 

"  Ursula,  my  dear,  your  charities  are  all  wrong.  To  give 
with  as  much  discrimination  as  you  do,  you  ought  to  be  able 
to  give  much  more.  Only  the  very  rich  can  afford  to  give 
judiciously." 

"Aunt  Louisa,  I  believe  that  is  very  true,"  replied  Ursula, 
gravely, 

"  Of  course  it  is.  There  are  lessons,  child,  which  only  a  grad- 
ual tradition  ultimately  develops.  I  am  a  Radical,  of  course. 
That  is  to  sa}",  I  am  an  Imperialist.  I  believe  in  the  Napo- 
leons of  history.  But,  genius  apart,  it  takes  half  a  dozen  fa- 
thers and  sons  before  you  produce  enough  collective  wisdom 
to  float  a  family.  And  I  have  always  declared  you  were  a  re- 
markable woman,  Ursula ;  but  I  should  hardly  say  of  you,  as 
your  father-in-law  once  said  of  some  celebrated  artist :  '  He- 
redity ?     Nonsense  !     Why,  Genius  is  a  whole  genealogy.'  " 

"  Did  Theodore  say  that  ?"  cried  the  Dowager.  "  Now,  I  did 
not  remember.  But  he  was  always  scattering  witty  things,  in 
bushels,  like  pearls  before  swine." 

'*  Thank  you,"  said  Louisa,  who  had  not  learned  in  the  least 
to  bear  with  her  sister's  infirmity. 

"  I  don't  mean —  Louisa,  you  must  write  that  down  for 
me.  There  is  nothing  that  distresses  me  more  than  the  thought 
how  incomplete  my  work  will  be  at  the  best." 

"  Mynheer  van  Hclmont  is  asking  to  see  the  young  Mevrouw," 
interposed  a  servant.     Ursula  rose  hastily. 

"Take  my  warning  to  heart,"  Aunt  Louisa  called  after  her — 
"  about  the  servants." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  servants,"  replied  Ursula,  disappearing 
through  the  door. 

"  Again  !"  said  the  Baroness.  "  He  comes  here  constantly, 
and  at  all  hours.  It  is  not  yet  half-past  nine.  Louisa,  when 
he  marries  Ursula,  we  can  go  and  live  on  the  farm.  Ce  sera  le 
comble." 

"  I  tell  you,"  replied  Louisa,  coolly,  "that  Gerard  is  going  to 
marry  Ursula,  and  then  all  will  come  right." 

"  And  I  tell  you,"  echoed  the  Dowager,  with  an  old  woman's 


AFRAID  373 

insistence,  "that  Gerard  is  going  to  marry  Helena,  sooner  or 
later.     I  have  always  known  it." 

"  Helena  ?  Helena  ?  Why,  she's  married  already.  Really, 
Cecile,  I  believe  you  are  going  crazy  ?" 

"I  know,  I  know,"  replied  the  Dowager,  in  great  confusion. 
"  But  her  husband  might  die.     Otto  died." 

"  Pooh  !"  said  Tante  Louisa,  departing. 

The  Dowager  also  beat  a  hurried  retreat.  She  sat  down  in 
her  boudoir,  and  gathered  poor  grumpy  rheumatic  old  Plush  on 
to  her  lap. 

"  They'll  find  me  out,"  she  reflected.  "  If  only  I  could  hold 
on  till  Gerard  comes."    And  her  chin  shook. 

"  You  are  come  so  early,"  said  Ursula  to  Theodore,  "  that  I 
suppose  your  news  is  especially  disagreeable." 

"  Tf  so,  it  meets  with  a  fitting  welcome,"  replied  her  visitor. 
"  But  you  have  guessed  right.  Ursula,  you  remember  my  tell- 
ing you  that  the  Hemel  cottages  by  the  Mill,  the  worst  on  the 
property,  must  come  down,  and  you  said  they  couldn't?" 

"You  said  they  couldn't,"  interrupted  Ursula.  "Who  was 
to  pay  for  rebuilding  them  ?" 

"  Well,  whoever  said  it  said  wrong.  They  could.  They  have 
come  down  of  themselves." 

"What?" 

"  One  of  the  middle  walls  has  given  way  during  the  night, 
and  the  three  cottages  are  a  wreck." 

"  Oh,  is  any  one  hurt  ?"     Ursula  clinched  her  hands. 

"  Only  you,"  answered  Helmont,  with  a  sneer — not  at  her. 
"  All  the  whole  filthy  rabble  are  encamped  outside  among  their 
household  goods  swearing  at  you." 

Ursula  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  "  They  never  paid  any 
rent,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

"  That  is  something  to  be  grateful  for.  Theodore,  I  cannot 
help  it.  You  know  I  cannot  help  it.  Nor  could  Otto.  How 
could  we  make  good,  in  our  poverty,  the  result  of  half  a  cent- 
ury's profusion  and  neglect  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  you  could  help  it.     And  now  we  shall  have 


374  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

the  inspector,  and  the  hovels  will  have  to  be  put  up  again  some- 
how.    But  how  ?" 

"  How  ?"  repeated  Ursula,  vaguely.  "  Never  mind.  Wait  a 
little.    We  shall  see." 

"  Wait !"  exclaimed  Theodore.  "  Twenty-four  hours  !  Have 
you  no  more  diamonds?" 

"  No.  Theodore,  I  am  beginning  to  feel  that  I  can  fight  no 
longer.  I  owe  it  to  you  that  you  should  receive  the  first  warn- 
ing.    I  am  going  to  give  up." 

He  turned  on  her  hotly.  "  What,  frightened  already  ?"  he 
cried. 

"  Frightened  ?"  she  repeated,  growing  pale.  "  Why  fright- 
ened?" A  sudden  light  seemed  to  strike  her.  "  Oh,  you  mean 
because  of  what  they  say  against  me  in  the  village.  What  do 
they  say  against  me  in  the  village,  Theodore?" 

"  If  you  know,  I  needn't  tell  you,"  replied  Theodore,  pale  also 
under  his  ruddy  glow,  unconsciously  wondering  how  much  had 
reached  her. 

"  They  say  that  I  used  dishonorable  means  to  secure  my  hus- 
band.    There  is  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  Theodore." 

"  I  know  that,"  he  answered,  much  relieved.  "  If  I  didn't 
know  that,  I  should  long  ago — "  He  checked  himself,  as  much 
from  pride  as  from  any  gentler  feeling. 

"Have  given  it  up,"  she  quietly  concluded  his  sentence. 
"  You  are  right.  I  have  been  making  up  my  mind.  I,  too, 
give  over." 

"  Mynheer  Noks  is  asking  to  see  Mevrouw,"  said  the  man- 
servant, once  more  disturbing  her,  in  the  same  careless,  imper- 
sonal voice. 

Theodore  started  at  the  name.  "  Do  nothing  in  a  hurry,"  he 
pleaded — "  nothing  to-day.  As  a  personal  favor  to  myself.  I 
have  a  right  to  ask  that.    The  villagers  will  say  you  are  afraid." 

"  I  promise,"  she  answered,  "  for  to-day.  I  have  no  right  to 
refuse  you.     But  I  am  not  afraid  of  villagers." 

A  moment  later  she  stood  opposite  the  notary. 

"  I  have  brought  the  deed  of  deposit,  Mevrouw,"  said  that 
functionary.  "  And  my  witnesses  are  waiting  in  the  hall.  Have 
you  the  document  ready  ?" 


AFRAID  375 

"  No,"  replied  Ursula.  "  My  good  Notary,  I  owe  you  most 
ample  apology,  but  I  cannot  help  myself.  I  have  been  com- 
pelled to  abandon  the  idea  of  making  a  will." 

The  notary  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  too  angry  to  speak. 
He  was  a  rough  man  by  nature,  as  she  had  seen,  but  not  devoid 
of  intelligence.  At  last  he  burst  out,  "Then  go  and  —  see 
'  Rigoletto,'  Mevrouw,  next  time  you  visit  at  Drum." 

Ursula  had  never  been  to  the  opera  in  her  life.  Mynheer 
Mopius's  one  attempt  to  take  her  having  failed. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said,  "  but  I  see  you  are  angry. 
It  is  very  natural.  All  I  can  say  is,  that  I  ask  your  forgiveness. 
I  did  not  know,  when  1  came  to  your  house  last  night,  that  I 
could  not  leave  my  money  away  from  my  father." 

"  But  you  knew  when  you  left,"  said  the  lawyer,  surlily. 

"  True,  but  I  had  not  had  time  to  reflect.  I  see  now  that  I 
must  leave  things  as  they  are." 

"  I,  too,  have  had  time  to  reflect,  and  I  have  come  exactly  to 
the  opposite  conclusion.  You  will  probably  survive  the  Domine  ; 
you  say  that  you  do  not  intend  to  marry  again ;  then  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  is  to  draw  up  a  will  as  you  intended." 

Ursula  looked  down  at  the  carpet  pattern. 

"  I  am  an  old  friend  of  the  Helmont  family,"  continued 
Mynheer  Noks.  "  I  do  not  deny,  Mevrouw,  that  I  was  sorry  to 
see  this  manor  pass  out  of  their  hands.  I  should  be  still  more 
sorry,  and  so  would  every  one,  to  find  the  Mopius  family  rul- 
ing here."  He  hesitated  ;  then,  with  an  effort,  "  Mevrouw,"  he 
said,  "you  are,  perhaps,  the  best  judge  of  your  own  conduct; 
but,  after  your  visit  last  night,  you  will  pardon  my  calling  it 
strange.  I  don't  know  whether  you  came  of  your  own  free 
choice.  I  don't  know  what  tragedy  is  being  played  here.  I 
don't  want  to  know.  But  something  is  happening :  I  can  see 
that."  Almost  involuntarily  he  pointed  to  Ursula's  wounded 
forehead.  "All  I  say  is,  be  careful.  You  acquired  all  this 
property  by  the  merest  accident.  If  any  one  could  have  proved 
that  Mynheer  Otto  lived  half  an  hour  longer — there  would  be 
no  question  of  any  will  of  yours." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  exclaimed  Ursula.    "  Do  you  dare  to 


376  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  I  accuse  nobody.  I  only  say  be  careful.  There  are  strange 
stories  floating  in  the  air,  and  your  strange  conduct  can  only 
augment  them.     It  only  wants  an  unscrupulous  lawyer — " 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  lawyers,"  said  Ursula,  standing  calm  and 
queenly.  "I  have  humbly  begged  your  forgiveness.  Mynheer 
Noks  ;  I  can  do  no  more.     This  interview  is  at  an  end." 

She  swept  to  the  window,  looking  out  on  the  lawn,  the  near 
cottages,  the  far-spreading  trees. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  myself,"  she  whispered. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  post  brought  her  a  letter  from  Uncle 
Mopius. 

It  was  a  complaining  letter,  full  of  the  writer's  continual  ill- 
health  and  all  his  sufferings  and  disappointments  ;  but  it  had  an 
unexpected  wind-up. 

"  This  year,  once  in  a  way,"  wrote  Jacobus,  ''  I  am  going  to 
make  you  a  birthday  present,  that  you  may  be  able  to  keep  up 
the  honor  of  the  family  in  the  face  of  those  beggarly  Helmonts, 
who,  I  hear,  are  abusing  you  everywhere.  I  hope  you  will  use 
it  for  display.  Show  the  naked  braggarts  that  a  wealthy  burgher 
is  a  better  man  than  they." 

The  envelope  contained  a  check  for  two  thousand  florins. 

Ursula  stood  holding  it  contemplatively  on  the  palm  of  her 
outstretched  hand. 

"  He  is  wrong  about  the  date,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  My 
birthday  is  next  month — not  that  any  one  except  father  cares. 
But  I  will  keep  the  money ;  it  will  do  to  rebuild  the  cottages." 

She  wondered  if  Harriet  knew  of  the  gift ;  she  fancied  not. 
In  reality  it  was  entirely  due  to  Harriet's  influence. 

Ursula  stood  by  the  writing-table  on  which  lay  her  dead  aunt's 
faded  bit  of  bead-work :  "  No  Cross,  no  Crown."  She  recalled 
her  father's  inversion  of  the  words. 

"  Uncle  Mopius  has  mistaken  the  date,"  she  said,  aloud  ;  "  and 
to-day,  of  all  days  in  the  year,  he  sends  this  money.  I  accept 
the  omen.  I  will  not  confess  at  this  moment ;  I  will  not  give 
up.  No  one  shall  say  that  my  motive  Avas  either  fear  or  despair. 
I  will  fiffht  them  all." 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE    HOME-COMING    OF    THE    HERO 

The  rebuilding  of  the  cottages  was  undertaken  without  delay, 
and,  chiefly  to  comply  with  Mynheer  Mopius's  injunction,  an 
entertainment  was  organized  by  Ursula  in  honor  of  her  birth- 
day. It  was  a  feast  of  the  usual  kind,  in  the  village  school-room, 
with  dissolving  views,  and  still  more  rapidly  dissolving  cakes. 
The  whole  village  criticised  the  various  good  things  provided, 
especially  the  patently  didactic  slides,  and  went  home  replete 
and  grumbling.  Furthermore,  last  year's  potato-crop  having 
failed,  the  village  demanded  provisions.  These  also  Ursula  dis- 
tributed, especially  in  the  Hemel,  as  far  as  the  two  thousand 
florins  could  possibly  be  made  to  stretch.  Even  elasticity  has 
natural  limits,  and  presently  dissatisfaction  rumbled  forth  again. 

That  spring,  however,  remains  memorable  in  the  annals  of  the 
Hemel.  In  April  its  oldest  inhabitant  died.  He  had  been  break- 
ing up  all  through  the  winter,  and  his  gradual  decline  had  been 
watched  by  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  place.  For, 
firstly,  he  was  the  only  one  among  them  who  could  be  described 
as  "  pretty  well  off ;"  secondly,  he  was  a  childish  bachelor ;  and, 
thirdly,  every  household  in  the  hamlet  laid  claim  to  some  form 
of  connection  with  "Uncle  Methuselah,"  as  they  called  him, 
though  nobody  wished  him  that  patriarch's  tale  of  years. 

Uncle  Methuselah  having  died  intestate  on  the  seventh  day  of 
April,  every  able-bodied  adult  in  the  Hemel,  not  to  mention  the 
children,  stood  outside  Notary  Noks's  little  office-door  on  the 
morning  of  the  eighth.  There  was  much  jostling  and  jesting, 
also  some  affectation  of  sorrow  by  those  who  considered  that 
laughs  should  be  taken  in  disproof  of  relationship. 

The  ragged  est  of  the  ragged  troop,  fat  Vrouw  Punter,  had 


378  MY    LADY     NOBODY 

actually  concealed  an  onion  under  her  tattered  shawl.  Iler  face 
was  so  resolutely  jovial  that  she  fancied  the  lachrymose  vege- 
table might  prove  useful  in  her  interview  with  the  man  of  law ; 
for  she  had  heard,  and  devoutly  believed,  that  if  you  but  held 
such  a  thing  in  your  hand,  at  an  emergency,  your  eyes  were  cer- 
tain to  overflow.  Most  of  the  others  poured  forth  rivers  ad  libi- 
tum^ scorning  artificial  assistance. 

But  Notary  Noks  put  a  stop  to  that.  "  Come  up  in  suc- 
cession," he  said,  "  and  those  who  feel  bad  take  a  turn  out- 
side." 

A  list  was  made  out  of  some  seventy  claimants,  and  then  a 
period  of  darkest  anxiety  and  suspicion  began  for  the  Hemel. 
Every  day,  as  it  slowly  wore  itself  out,  deepened  the  agonizing 
conviction  that  "  the  judges  "  were  cutting  their  slices  off  the 
communal  cake.  "  Humpy  Jack,"  who  could  fluently  read  words 
of  three  syllables,  gave  voice  to  the  general  sentiment.  "  A 
legacy  in  the  lawyers'  hands,"  he  said,  "  is  just  like  a  lump  of 
ice  on  a  red-hot  stove." 

Pessimists  shook  their  heads  and  expressed  an  opinion  that 
"  nobody  would  get  nothing." 

In  a  fortnight  the  excitement  reached  fever-heat.  Meanwhile, 
numerous  members  of  the  community  regularly  visited — and 
called  upon — Ursula. 

At  last,  on  a  beautiful  spring  day,  full  of  promise  and  hope, 
all  the  heirs,  or  their  legal  representatives,  obeyed  a  summons 
to  fetch  each  man  his  share.  Not  a  soul  but  was  amazed  by 
the  vagaries  of  "  the  judges,"  and  annoyed  by  their  rapacity. 
The  people  who  received  a  couple  of  hundred  florins  were  al- 
most as  angry  as  those  who  stared  down  on  half  a  dozen  silver 
pieces  in  a  grimy  palm.  Yet  surely  the  queer  fractions  and 
subdivisions  should  have  convinced  the  unconvincible. 

But  after  the  return  of  the  anxiously  expected  gold-seekers,  a 
general  appeasement  settled  upon  the  whole  clan.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  brief  period  of  frizzling  and  frying,  of  dancing  and 
shouting,  and  the  children's  cheeks  were  shiny  and  the  parents' 
breath  was  strong.  And  the  voices  of  the  singer  and  the 
swearer  were  abundantly  heard  in  the  land.  Then  the  flame 
burned  low,  like  a  dying  "Catherine-wheel,"  and  fell  away. 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  HERO  379 

Seven  days  after  the  visit  to  "  the  judges  "  not  a  penny  of  Uncle 
Methuselah's  inheritance  was  left  in  the  Hemel. 

On  the  eighth  day  several  woe-begone  faces  appeared  at  the 
kitchen  entrance  of  the  Horst.  Not  one  of  these  faces,  accord- 
ing to  information  freely  vouchsafed,  belonged  to  "  a  cousin  " 
of  the  patriarch. 

Horstwyk,  as  always,  pulled  up  its  collective  nose.  "  Can 
anything  good  come  out  of  the  Hemel  ?"  it  asked.  Besides, 
Horstwyk  had  other  matters  to  interest  it.  Scandal  about 
Ursula  had  become  more  general  than  ever,  and  to  this  was 
soon  added  the  all-engrossing  topic  of  "  the  Baron's "  return. 
He  came  back  as  soon  as  the  chill  Dutch  summer  could  feebly 
be  counted  on  to  cherish  this  hero-son  of  the  soil;  he  came 
back,  enfolded  in  wraps  and  coverings,  with  the  imprint  of 
wearying  pain  on  his  white  but  unchangeably  handsome  face. 

"Your  rooms  are  quite  ready  at  the  Manor-house,"  said  Ur- 
sula, having  gone  with  the  Dowager  to  greet  him  on  his  arrival 
in  Amsterdam.  The  Dowager  could  only  sit  silent  with  her 
hand  in  his ;  it  had  been  her  intention  to  ask  him  if  really  he 
had  been  wounded,  but  she  had  got  sufficient  answer  before  the 
question  could  be  put. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gerard,  "  I  am  going  to  stay  a  few  days 
with  the  Trossarts,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  come  and  see  you 
from  Drum.  I  am  thinking  of  settling  down  for  the  present 
at  the  Hague." 

Ursula  bit  her  under-lip.  The  Dowager's  pale  eyes  flashed 
fire.  "  For  the  present."  Of  course.  The  best  legal  advice, 
she  supposed,  could  be  obtained  at  the  Hague. 

"  Gerard,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  grew  soft  again  as  she  filled 
them  with  his  presence,  "  what  is  the  use  of  letters  that  only 
tell  half  the  truth  ?" 

"  It  is  a  fair  average,"  he  answered,  gayly.  "  Why,  even  be- 
fore the  introduction  of  the  penny -post  man  had  discovered 
that  the  object  of  speech  is  to  dissemble.  A  dumb  man  with 
expressive  eyes  would  tell  all  his  secrets.  And  there  has  been 
since  the  creation  of  the  world  no  greater  multiplier  of  falsehood 
than  the  penny-post." 

"A   man    who    daren't   answer   straight   is   bound   to   take 


380  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

refuge  in  nonsense,"  replied  the  Dowager,  feeling  quite  young 
and  clever  again.  "I  wasn't  speaking  of  the  penny -post. 
What  you  say  there  is  so  like  your  father,  Gerard.  Don't  you 
remember  how  he  used  to  declare  that  the  breeding  of  centuries, 
after  having  come  triumphant  out  of  the  French  Revolution, 
had  been  killed  in  fifty  years'  time  by  the  railway  and  the 
penny-post?  I  have  got  that  down  in  the  Memoir.  You  re- 
mind me  so  much  of  your  father,  Gerard.  I  must  show  you 
what  1  have  written  since  you  went  away." 

And  then  they  began  talking  of  many  tender  memories,  and 
Ursula  left  them  alone. 

Gerard  had  resolved  from  the  first  to  avoid  anything  that 
could  have  the  appearance  of  a  home-coming  to  Horstwyk.  This 
sentiment  Ursula,  of  course,  understood.  But  there  are  no 
more  powerless  creatures  in  the  world  than  its  rulers,  big  or 
little.  It  was  a  case  of  the  driver  driven.  For  the  population 
of  the  whole  neighborhood  made  up  its  heavy  mind  to  do  honor 
to  "  the  Hero,"  as  everybody  seemed  agreed  to  call  him.  It 
was  an  excellent  opportunity  of  protesting  against  Ursula's 
government,  of  glorifying  the  ancien  regime,  and  of  saluting  the 
national  flag;  also  it  gave  a  great  many  nonentities  a  notable 
chance  of  displaying  their  importance  :  there  would  be  speeches, 
and  favors,  and,  best  of  all,  wide-spread  good  cheer.  Once  a 
committee  had  been  formed  and  subscriptions  gathered,  both 
Gerard  and  Ursula  saw  that  resistance  would  be  vain.  So  they 
gave  in,  separately  and  simultaneously,  each  with  the  best  pos- 
sible grace,  and  the  Lady  of  the  Manor  promised  flowers  and  a 
collation,  and  invited  the  gentry  for  several  miles  round.  Also 
she  drove  with  the  Dowager  to  inspect  the  triumphal  arches  in 
course  of  erection  at  the  distant  limit  of  the  Commune,  on 
Horstwyk  village  square,  at  the  Manor-house  gates. 

The  appointed  day  dawned  white  with  early  heat,  rippling 
over  as  the  sun  rose  higher  into  the  color-glories  of  triumphant 
June.  The  splendor  of  the  cloudless  morning  lay  almost  like 
an  oppression  upon  the  drowsy  pastures  and  the  dusty  roads. 
The  washed  and  smartened  crowds  by  the  park  gates  and  near 
the  church  shone  visibly  with  heat  and  happiness.     As  always 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  HERO  381 

at  the  beginning  of  every  public  holiday,  "  the  temper  of  the 
crowd  was  excellent :"  the  local  reporter  of  the  Drum  Gazette 
remembered  that  stereotyped  phrase  without  requiring  to  make 
a  note  of  it. 

The  Manor-house  carriage  with  Ursula  inside  met  the  train 
at  the  market-town  station,  and,  by  an  irony  of  fate,  she  had  to 
drive  along  the  highway  seated  next  to  her  brother-in-law.  It 
was  still  stranger,  perhaps,  that  this  should  be  the  single  occa- 
sion on  which  she  appeared  since  her  widowhood,  before  all  the 
country-side,  in  the  role  of  Lady  of  the  Manor.  The  "  county 
families  " — her  cousins  by  marriage — gathered  around  her  with 
abundance  of  malevolent  curiosity. 

Gerard  was  very  silent  and  reserved ;  she  saw  how  distasteful 
the  whole  ceremony  was  to  him.  He  still  looked  ill,  in  dark 
clothing,  with  his  military  cross  on  his  breast. 

At  the  first  triumphal  arch,  where  a  white  stone  marked  the 
extreme  limit  of  Horstwyk,  the  simple  reception  commenced. 
It  had  been  distinctly  arranged  that  only  the  returning  soldier 
was  to  be  honored  as  such.  The  Burgomaster's  welcoming 
speech,  therefore,  was  all  glory  and  gunpowder,  and  could  hurt 
no  one,  not  even  Ursula,  though  she  might  have  drawn  her  own 
conclusions,  had  that  been  necessary,  from  the  silence  which 
had  attended  her  solitary  drive  to  the  station.  Loud  cries  of 
"  Long  live  the  Baron  !"  now  resounded  on  all  sides  ;  they 
broke  out  afresh  as  the  carriage  halted  by  the  church,  where  the 
school- children  sang  a  couple  of  patriotic  anthems,  and  the 
Domine,  wearmg  his  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  held  a  sec- 
ond discourse.  The  village  band  having  played  a  military 
march,  the  carriage  drove  off  to  the  Horst.  It  was  unattended, 
a  sore  point  with  the  tenantry,  whose  proposal  to  get  up  a 
mounted  guard  of  honor  had  been  met  by  Gerard's  unhesitating 
rebuff. 

Everybody  he  cared  about  (and  a  good  many  other  people)  had 
assembled  to  welcome  him  on  the  Manor-house  lawn.  The 
Van  Trossarts  were  there,  and  the  Van  Troyens;  and  Helena,  a 
fond  though  fitful  mother,  had  brought  her  baby  girl.  A  big 
luncheon  was  served  in  the  house  for  the  guests,  and  another 
outside  for  the  members  of  the  committee  and  the  numerous 


382  •  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

village  notables.  Ursula  sat  calculating  the  cost  all  through 
her  father's  toast,  which  was  necessarily  rather  a  repetition  of 
his  speech,  a  glorification  of  bravery,  secular  and  religious.  No- 
body could  doubt  that  Gerard  was  utterly  miserable. 

Nor  could  any  one  ignore  the  delight  of  the  Dowager.  She 
stood  by  her  son's  side,  bowed  yet  beaming,  all  through  the 
sweltry  afternoon.  It  was  her  feast-day.  She  drank  in  with 
eagerly  upturned  countenance  the  unceasing  flow  of  banal  com- 
pliments, seeming  to  derive  some  personal  satisfaction  from  the 
clumsy  praises  of  the  peasantry.  For,  after  luncheon,  while  the 
children's  sports  were  in  progress,  the  returned  warrior  endured 
a  congratulatory  levee.  Farmer  after  farmer  came  up,  red-hot 
with  clumsy  good  feeling ;  farmer  after  farmer  remarked  : 

"Now,  Jonker,  you've  kept  up  the  honor  of  Horstwyk,  say." 

Gerard,  rousing  himself,  found  a  kind  word  of  recognition 
and  interest  for  each.  Ursula,  as  she  watched  him  from  afar, 
saw  on  the  altered  features  the  old  smile. 

Once  she  drew  near  to  him  suddenly.  "  How  much  you  must 
have  suffered  !"  she  said.     "  I  had  no  idea — I — " 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  Not  as  much  as  you,"  he  answered.  "  1  would  not  have  ex- 
changed my  fight  for  yours." 

"  Gerard,  you  do  not  mean  that,"  she  said,  quickly,  avoiding 
his  gaze.  "  Now  that  you  see  the  old  place  again,  after  all 
these  months,  you  are  glad  it  is  still  there,  still — ours.  You 
would  not  willingly  now  have  lost  a  rood  of  it.  Say  so — say 
so,  nowy 

Her  voice  grew  desperately  pleading. 

Gerard  waited  long  before  he  answered.  "I  am  glad  it  is 
yours,"  he  said  at  last,  "as  you  seem  to  care.  I  should  not 
care  for  it  to  be  mine." 

She  sprang  back  as  if  he  had  stung  her.  For  the  rest  of  the 
time  she  remained  with  Theodore,  trying  to  believe  that  she  did 
not  observe  the  "county  people's"  impertinences.  She  felt  Hele- 
na's eyes  upon  her  constantly,  and  was  surprised  by  their  benig- 
nity. That  woman  must  be  a  worse  woman  than  Helena  Van 
Troyen  who  can  receive,  immutable,  a  little  child  from  God. 

All  through  the  sultry  splendor  of  that  long-drawn  summer 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  HERO  383 

day  the  peasantry  enjoyed  themselves  in  their  own  peculiar 
manner.  Towards  live  o'clock  a  slate-colored  bank  of  cloud  be- 
gan slowly  to  border  the  far  horizon,  as  if  rising  to  meet  the 
yet  lofty  sun.  One  carriage  after  another  emerged  from  the 
stables,  and  the  local  grandees  drove  away.  Then  the  people 
gathered  for  a  final  cheer,  before  melting  in  groups  towards 
their  respective  neighborhoods  to  finish  the  evening,  many  of 
them,  alas,  in  drinlv, 

"  Hurrah,"  cried  the  Burgomaster,  "  for  the  hero  of  Acheen  ! 
Hurrah !" 

"  And  now,"  said  Gerard's  clear  tones  in  the  ensuing  silence, 
"  a  cheer  for  the  giver  of  this  whole  entertaiment,  the  Lady  of 
the  Manor  !     Hurrah  !" 

It  was  a  mistake,  but  Gerard  knew  nothing  of  Ursula's  un- 
popularity. His  chivalrous  impulse  met  with  but  feeble  re- 
sponse. A  strident  voice — one  of  those  voices  you  hear  above 
the  crowd — even  cried  out,  though  hesitatingly,  "Down  with  all 
thieves !"  A  murmur  of  approbation  from  the  immediate  sur- 
rounders  saluted  the  words.  Ursula  overheard  them,  and,  look- 
ing up,  saw  a  pair  of  villanous  eyes  fixed  evilly  on  hers.  "Who 
is  that  man  ?     Do  you  know  ?"  she  said,  turning  to  Theodore. 

"  That  man,"  he  answered,  with  studied  carelessness.  "  Oh, 
nobody.  A  writer  that  the  notary  has  lately  taken  on.  His 
name  is  Skiff." 

"  Stay  to  dinner,"  said  Ursula.  "  We  shall  be  quite  a  small 
party.  Immediately  afterwards  Gerard  goes  back  to  Drum  with 
the  Van  Trossarts.     I  want  you  to  see  them  to  the  station." 

"  Very  well.     There  is  a  thunder-storm  coming  up." 

"  Is  there  ?  I  don't  mind  thunder-storms.  But  this  one  is 
several  hours  off.     You  will  be  able  to  get  back  in  time." 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock.  The  great  curtain  of  deepening 
blue  had  crept  steadily  upward,  sweeping  its  broad  rim  like  a 
mass  of  cotton  -  wool  across  sun  and  sky,  and  gradually  min- 
gling with  night  in  one  unbroken  heaviness.  The  black  weight 
now  lay  low  on  the  thick,  expectant  air.  The  summer  evening 
was  pitchy  dark  and  threatening. 

Inside  the  Manor-house  everything  was  once  more  quiet,  with 


384  MY    LADY     NOBODY 

the  numbness  that  follows  on  a  long  day's  fatigue.  A  light 
glimmered  here  and  there  in  the  big,  dim  building.  In  the  base- 
ment the  servants  were  busy  washing  up.  From  time  to  time 
a  distant  yell  of  drunken  merrymaking  or  sheer  animal  excite- 
ment came  faintly  ringing  through  the  solemn  denseness  of  the 
trees. 

Ursula  sat  alone  in  her  room,  thinking  of  many  things,  es- 
pecially of  Gerard's  reply  to  her  question  regarding  the  Horst. 
On  her  side  that  question  had  assumed  the  importance  of  a  su- 
preme appeal.     How  coldly  he  had  pushed  it  aside  ! 

"  I  know  not  what  to  do,"  she  reflected.  "  I  cannot  advance 
or  retreat.  Merciful  Heaven,  how  he  has  suffered !  And  the 
suffering  has  taught  him  nothing." 

The  noise  from  the  village  beat  vaguely  against  her  ear.  It 
was  growing  louder,  coming  nearer,  but  she  did  not  remark  it. 
She  looked  up  as  from  a  trance,  when  Hephzibah  broke,  unan- 
nounced, into  the  room. 

"  Mevrouw,  they  are  coming  !"  shrieked  the  waiting-woman, 
her  white  face  still  whiter  from  terror.  "  Save  yourself  !  Es- 
cape by  the  terrace !" 

"  Silence !  Keep  calm,"  answered  Ursula,  long  ago  accus- 
tomed to  recognize  the  poor  creature's  insanity.  "  If  you  can 
calm  yourself,  tell  me  what  is  wrong." 

"  There's  no  time,"  burst  out  Hephzibah,  "  for  calmness. 
They  are  coming  —  the  people,  up  the  avenue !  They  swear 
they  will  murder  you,  or  burn  down  the  castle  !  Save  yourself  ! 
Save  yourself !     Down  by  the  stables." 

Ursula,  hearkening,  distinguished  indeed  the  fierce  roar  of  an 
approaching  mob. 

"  Hush  !"  she  said,  white  to  the  lips.  "  Go  up-stairs  to  Freule 
Louisa.  Tell  her  to  reassure  the  Baroness.  .  Nothing  will  hap- 
pen— do  you  hear  me  ? — if  you  all  keep  calm."  She  spoke  slow- 
ly and  impressively.  "  But  if  there  is  to  be  shrieking  and  scream- 
ing, I  cannot  answer  for  the  consequences." 

Then,  brushing  past  the  momentarily  paralyzed  servant,  she 
went  out  into  the  entrance  hall.  Its  white  pillars  shone  dimly 
in  the  insufficient  lamplight,  half  hidden  behind  gay  patches  of 
flowers.     The  house  had  not  been  decorated  for  the  occasion. 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  HERO  885 

but  the  stands  had  been  refilled  and  freshened  up,  and  a  floral 
"  Hail  to  the  Hero !"  of  the  head-gardener's  fabrication,  still 
hung  unfaded  over  the  great  dining-room  door. 

The  loud  menace  of  the  swiftly  approaching  danger  rolled  up 
with  increasing  distinctness  under  the  lowering  heavens.  Ur- 
sula could  plainly  distinguish  enthusiasm  for  the  rightful  Van 
Helmont  and  denunciation  of  the  usurper.  "  After  all,  they  are 
right,"  she  thought,  bitterly ;  "  they  little  know  how  right." 
Somehow  the  reflection  seemed  to  bring  her  assurance.  She 
now  remembered,  without  bitterness,  all  the  manifold  charities 
which  the  usurper,  unlike  the  rightful  lords,  had  constantly  dis- 
pensed, as  bread  from  her  own  mouth,  to  both  deserving  and 
undeserving  poor. 

She  went  out  on  to  the  wide  steps  and  stood  waiting ;  the  hot 
air  struck  her  pallid  face,  and  the  clouds  seemed  to  sink  yet 
lower. 

In  another  moment  the  cries  all  around  her  struck  a  yet 
cruder  blow.  A  dark  mass,  yelling  and  drunken,  w^as  surging 
vaguely  across  the  blackness  of  the  lawn — the  lowest  rabble  of 
the  purlieus  of  Horstwyk,  and  all  the  aristocracy  of  the  Heme). 

"  Down  with  the  usurper  !"  "  Down  with  the  tyrant !"  "  We 
won't  have  any  thieves  in  Horstwyk  1"  "  Long  live  the  hero  of 
Acheen  !"  "  Down  with  the  parson's  daughter  !"  And,  crud- 
est of  all,  "  Down  with  the  light  o'  love  !" 

P'or  one  instant,  as  those  mad  words  reached  her,  Ursula 
shrank  back,  and  a  torrent  of  crimson  swept  over  her  cheeks. 
Juffers,  the  constable,  had  supplemented  Adeline's  stories,  tell- 
ing how,  even  in  her  early  widowhood,  Mevrouw  had  despised 
all  decorum. 

At  sight  of  the  single  light-robed  figure  standing  there  in  the 
dull  radiance  from  the  hall,  the  shrieking,  struggling  conglom- 
eration swerved  back.  There  came  a  lull ;  then  the  wild  shouts 
went  up  anew. 

"  As  no  Hdmont's  to  have  it,  let's  burn  (town  the  house  !" 
cried  a  dominating  twang,  which  Ursula  recognized.  A  yell  of 
approval  swelled  high  around  the  words.  The  logic  of  this 
tribute  to  the  family  immediately  enchanted  every  one  ;  and  all 
the  half-grown  boys  and  raw  youths  in  the  horde  howled  with 

25 


386  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

delight  at  the  prospect  of  so  grand  a  conflagration.  The  tumult 
for  some  time,  however,  rendered  action  of  any  kind  impossible. 
Then  followed  the  inevitable  ebb. 

"  There  is  no  necessity  for  burning  anything,"  said  Ursula,  in 
far-reaching  tones  ;  "  the  house  is  full  of  defenceless  women.  I 
am  here.     What  do  you  want  ?" 

Another  roar  answered  her,  and,  with  re-echoing  cries  of 
"  Burn  it !"  the  mob  swayed  forward  to  the  steps. 

Suddenly  the  fierce  note  of  fury  changed  to  a  shrill  surprise. 
Ursula  felt  a  hand  upon  her  arm.  Removing  her  eyes  for  the 
first  time  from  the  turmoil  in  front  of  her,  she  saw  the  little 
Dowager  standing  by  her  side. 

"  Go  in,  mamma — go  in,"  she  whispered,  hurriedly.  But  the 
little  Dowager  did  not  remove  the  hand. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  old  Baroness  ?"  screamed  a  drink-sodden 
voice.  The  response  was  lost  in  an  uproar  of  terror,  as  the  dark- 
ness momentarily  vanished,  and  the  whole  scene — the  massive 
building,  the  soaring  beeches,  the  upturned  distorted  faces,  the 
two  figures  on  the  threshold — all  stood  out  white  for  one  brill- 
iant instant  before  the  opening  heavens  crashed  down  the  full 
weight  of  their  pent-up  derision  in  torrents  of  mingling  rain  and 
thunder  on  the  wasps'  nest  beneath  them  which  men  call  the 
world. 

Mechanically  the  two  women  fell  back  under  shelter.  The 
rush  of  water  poured  past  them  like  a  falling  curtain  amid  the 
tumult  of  the  elements.  The  startled  and  blinded  crowd,  as 
flash  followed  flash,  sought  an  insecure  refuge  under  the  great 
trees  of  the  park,  still  restrained  by  that  pair  of  locked  and 
steadfast  women  from  roughly  invading  "  the  House."  The 
whole  place  was  wrapped  as  in  a  whirlpool  of  contending  fire 
and  water.  Vaguely  the  half -sobered  drunkard  realized  that  the 
young  Baroness  stood  inviolable,  girdled  by  God. 

House  and  park  were  black  and  still  in  a  widespread  drip 
and  shine  of  water,  when  Theodore  van  Helmont,  drenched  to 
the  skin,  sprang  from  his  flecked  and  foaming  steed  and  rang 
softly  at  a  side-door.  He  ran  to  the  corridor,  where  Ursula  met 
him,  lamp  in  hand. 


THE  HOME-COMING  OF  THE  HERO  387 

"  That  I  should  have  been  too  late  !"  he  gasped.  "  O  God  ! 
Forgive  me,  Ursula,  that  I  should  have  been  too  late !"  The 
tears  sprani>-  forward  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  rained  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  Don't,"  she  said.  "  You  hurt  rae."  She  had  never  seen  a 
man  shed  tears  before.  "  Of  course  you  were  too  late.  How 
could  you  help  it  ?" 

He  mastered  himself  with  an  effort.  "  How  pale  you  are  !" 
he  said. 

"Well,  of  course,  it  is  hardly  a  pleasant  experience.  It  was 
my  own  fault  for  encouraging  conviviality.  It  is  over  now, 
Theodore.  Be  comforted ;  you  could  have  done  nothing  had 
you  been  here." 

"  I  could  at  least  have  died  first,"  he  muttered.  And  he 
went  away  without  saying  good-night. 

When  Ilephzibah  had  carried  the  alarm  to  Freule  Louisa,  the 
latter  had  run  screaming  to  the  Dowager. 

"  And  where  is  Ursula  ?"  the  old  lady  had  asked,  gasping  and 
trembling. 

"  Ursula  has  gone  out  to  meet  them,  like  the  mad  creature 
she  is.  Dear  Heaven,  we  shall  all  be  murdered !  Come  away 
with  rae,  Cecile — come  away  !  We  can  get  out  at  the  back 
and  take  refuge  at  the  gardener's.  Come  immediately — come 
away !" 

The  Dowager  rose,  tottering,  from  her  easy-chair. 

*'  I  am  going  to  Ursula,"  she  said. 

"To  Ursula?  Oh,  mercy!  Cecile,  have  you  turned  crazy, 
too  ?  Let  her  get  herself  killed  if  she  wants  to  ;  what  business 
is  it  of  yours?  Oh,  Heaven,  I'm  so  frightened,  I  daren't  stay  a 
second  longer.  Come  with  me !  You  surely  don't  care  so  re- 
markably for  Ursula  ?" 

"That  may  be,"  replied  the  Dowager,  with  one  foot  already 
on  the  stair ;  "  but  I  am  going  to  her  now." 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE     FATAL     KNIFE 

Mynheer  Mopius  was  slowly  dying.  He  amused  himself 
with  playing  the  part  and  schooling  Harriet,  little  realizing  that 
her  willingness  to  accept  the  fiction  found  its  source  in  her 
certitude  of  the  fact. 

"  Harriet  has  become  quite  docile,"  reflected  Jacobus ;  "  she 
will  make  an  excellent  wife  for  my  old  age.  I  had  always  a 
gift  for  managing  women.  Look  at  Sarah,  my  first,  whose 
character  was  fundamentally  selfish.  Love,  based  upon  obedi- 
ence, that  is  the  secret  of  wedded  bliss.  But  it  would  never  do 
to  let  the  women  know  it.  When  a  woman  knows  a  secret 
there's  no  secret  left  to  know." 

Mynheer  Mopius  spent  much  of  his  time  in  bed,  especially 
the  daytime.  At  night  he  would  gasp  for  breath  and  have  to 
be  helped  to  an  easy-chair,  and  Harriet  nursed  him,  carefully 
balancing  her  strength. 

"  Two  invalids  are  no  use  to  any  one,"  she  said,  when  stipu- 
lating for  repose  in  an  adjoining  apartment. 

'*  My  first  wife — "  began  Mopius,  but  Harriet  stopped  him. 

"  That  subject's  tabooed,"  she  said.  "  Why,  Jacobus,  it  is 
months  since  you  mentioned  her.  Your  first  wife  died.  What 
would  you  do  if,  at  this  moment,  I  were  to  die  ?" 

"  Marry  again,"  replied  Jacobus,  coughing  against  his  pil- 
lows, and  looking  exceedingly  yellow  and  bilious  and  unwhole- 
some. 

"  It  takes  two  to  do  that,"  said  Harriet,  coloring,  as  she 
spoke,  under  the  reproach  of  her  own  acceptance. 

*'  Does  it  ?"  answered  Mopius,  clinking  his  medicine-bottles. 

"  Jacobus,  we  have  never  quarrelled.    Don't  let  us  begin  now. 


THE    FATAL    KNIFE  389 

There  is  only  one  question  I  should  like  to  ask  you  without  re- 
quiring an  answer.  How  many  people  did  you  propose  to 
when  left  a  widower  before  you  got  down  to  me  ?"  She  left 
the  room  abruptly,  and  in  the  passage  she  struck  her  white 
hand  across  her  face. 

Not  very  hard. 

Jacobus  sat  up  and  adjusted  his  nightcap.  "  Ah,  you  see, 
she  ran  away,"  he  said.  "  A  year  ago  she'd  have  braved  it  out. 
I  shall  still  make  something  of  Harriet." 

She  came  back  presently  with  a  bundle  of  papers.  It  was 
part  of  her  daily  task  to  read  aloud  all  the  official  documents 
connected  with  the  government  of  Drum,  which  were  sent  to 
the  caged  Town  Councillor.  Jacobus  fretted  incessantly  at  the 
thought  liow  everything  was  going  wrong. 

"  The  people  in  the  streets  look  just  as  usual,"  said  Harriet ; 
but  that  consideration  afforded  her  husband  no  comfort.  She 
yawned  patiently  over  endless  statistics  regarding  gas  and 
drains.  It  was  her  ignorance  which  caused  her  to  wonder 
whether  the  town  would  not  have  been  governed  far  better  with- 
out a  council,  and  especially  without  an  official  printing-press. 

"  It  is  time  for  my  medicine,"  said  Mopius,  who,  by  saying 
this  five  minutes  too  early,  constantly  succeeded  in  suggesting 
an  omission  on  Harriet's  part.  *'  Well,  what  says  the  Burgo- 
master concerning  the  market  dues  ?  He  is  a  fool,  that  Burgo- 
master. And  so  are  the  aldermen.  Heigho !  I  wonder  what 
will  become  of  this  poor  town  when  I  am  gone !  It  is  strange 
how  greatly  I  have  attached  myself  to  it.  Almost  as  much  as 
if  it  had  been  my  birthplace.  But  I  had  always  '  une  nature 
attachante.'     It  is  a  great  mistake." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  said  Harriet. 

"  Yes,  yes.  Life  is  too  short :  here  to-day,  gone  to-morrow. 
Ah,  well !  Is  that  idiot  going  to  lower  the  rent  for  market 
stands  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Harriet,  wearily,  turning  over  her  pile 
of  documents;  "I'll  read  you  the  whole  lot;  you  can  see  for 
yourself."  And  she  did  read,  monotonously,  for  an  hour  and  a 
half,  Mopius  following  everything  with  eager  interest,  interrupt- 
ing, gesticulating,  nodding  approval  or,  more  frequently,  dissent 


390  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Right,  right,"  said  Jacobus,  in  high  good-humor  over  some- 
body's opposition  to  the  powers  that  be  in  Drum.  "  Give  it 
them  well.  I  never  approved  of  knuckling  under  to  grandees. 
You  gain  nothing  but  kicks  by  bowing  to  '  My  Lord.'  Ah, 
they'll  miss  me  when  I'm  dead,  Harriet,  and  so  will  you." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  miss  you,"  replied  his  wife.  "  Dear  me,  Jacobus, 
what  shall  I  do  with  my  time  all  day?" 

"  First  you  will  cry,"  said  Jacobus,  with  ghastly  enjoyment  of 
a  far-off  possibility ;  "  and  then  you  will  get  tired  of  crying." 
He  waited  a  little  ruefully  for  a  disclaimer.  "And  then  you 
will  begin  to  enjoy  your  money." 

"  By-the-bye,  that  is  a  subject  we  have  never  spoken  about 
since  the  marriage  settlement,"  said  Harriet,  holding  one  of 
the  stiff  yellow  papers  against  her  cheek.  "  At  least,  /  have 
never  spoken  about  it.  Of  course,  you  tell  me  twenty  times 
in  a  week  that  you  will  leave  me  a  lot  of  money ;  but  that 
counts  for  nothing.  I  believe  you  used  to  say  the  same 
thing  to  Ursula.  Seriouslv,  Jacobus,  have  you  ever  made  a 
will  ?" 

"  I  have,"  said  Jacobus,  enjoying  his  importance. 

"  I  thought  people  who  had  been  notaries  always  died  intes- 
tate. If  you  had  died  intestate.  Jacobus,  I  suppose  Ursula 
would  have  had  all  your  money  ?" 

"  Ursula  and  that  foolish  Josine.  Ursula,  Baroness  van  Hel- 
mont,  of  Horstwyk  and  the  Horst.  This  conversation  appears 
to  me  unpleasing,  Harriet." 

"Unavoidable  conversations  almost  always  are."  Harriet's 
face  was  entirely  hid  by  the  "  Report  on  Sewage."  "  Has  this 
will  of  yours  really  appointed  me  your  heir  ?" 

Mynheer  Mopius  fell  back  and  gasped.  "  Can  you  not  wait  a 
little  longer  ?"  he  said — "  a  very  little  longer  ?" 

"  Jacobus,  I  am  only  repeating  what  you  have  told  me  over 
and  over  again.  I  want  to  know,  if  you  please,  whether  you 
have  really  left  your  whole  fortune  to  me." 

She  drew  near  to  the  bed. 

Mynheer  Mopius  sat  up  again,  and  looked  askance  at  his  wife 
anxiously.  "  I'm  getting  better,"  he  said.  "  I  feel  a  great  deal 
better  to-day." 


THE    FATAL    KNIFE  391 

*'  I'm  SO  glad.  You  look  better.  And  now,  Jacobus,  answer 
my  question,  on  your  honor." 

"  Harriet,  I  do  believe  you  want  me  to  die.  I  don't  think  I 
shall  last  much  longer;  still,  don't  reckon  too  much  on  my 
speedy  demise.  I  heard  the  other  day  of  a  man  who  was  buried 
and  resuscitated,  and  lived  forty  years  afterwards." 

"  Nonsense,"  replied  Harriet,  unsympathetically.  "  If  you 
were  buried,  I  should  hardly  be  asking  about  your  will.  Now 
tell  me." 

"What  if  I  don't?" 

Harriet  shrugged  her  handsome  shoulders.  "  I  suppose  the 
truth  is  you  have  left  me  nothing,"  she  said,  walking  away, 
"  and  you  don't  want  to  avow  your  life-long  lies.  One  can  never 
trust  your  boastings.     Perhaps  there  isn't  so  much  to  leave." 

"You  will  be  a  rich  woman,  Harriet,"  answered  Mynheer 
Mopius,  solemnly,  "  a  very  rich  woman.  Yes,  I  have  left  you 
all,  on  condition  that  you  never  marry  again." 

"  A  foolish  condition,"  said  Harriet,  once  more  applying  the 
"  Report."  "  Should  the  question  present  itself,  I  would  cer- 
tainly not  be  influenced  by  considerations  of  that  kind." 

"  Hum  !"  said  Jacobus.  "  Well,  now  I  have  told  you.  So 
let's  talk  of  something  else.     I  wish  you  would  give  me  my 

jelly." 

She  got  it  for  him.  "  And  if  I  marry,  everything  goes  to 
Ursula,  I  suppose,"  she  persisted.  "Well,  so  much  the  better 
for  Ursula." 

A  sudden  jealousy  flashed  into  his  orange-green  eyes.  "  I 
believe,  if  I  died,  you  would  marry  the  doctor,"  he  said. 

Her  face  flushed  protest ;  her  heart  thumped  assent.  "  You 
have  no  right  to  say  that,  or  anything  like  it,"  she  cried.  "  I 
have  been  a  faithful  wife  to  you,  Jacobus.  Keep  your  dirty 
money." 

Her  rising  violence  always  cowed  him.  "  Tut,  tut,"  he,  said  ; 
"  so  I  shall.  For  many  a  long  year,  perhaps,  and  after  that  you 
may  have  it." 

"  Not  on  those  conditions."  She  turned  away  from  him  alto- 
gether. "  Make  your  will  over  again,"  she  said.  "  Do  you  hear 
me?    JAnd  leave  your  money  to  Ursula,  whose,  in  fact,  it  is  by 


392  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

right.  I  am  content  with  my  settlement,  as  I  told  you  at  the 
time.  You  will  remember  that  I  told  you  to  leave  your  money 
to  Ursula.  Money,  with  me,  is  not  the  one  thing  worth  living 
for  and  talking  flbout.  But  I  wanted,  in  honesty,  to  warn  you. 
You  had  better  send  for  the  lawyer  to-night." 

"  What  nonsense  !"  he  cried,  angrily.  "  To  hear  you  talk,  one 
would  think  I  hadn't  a  week  left  to  live.  Is  that  what  the  doc- 
tor thinks,  pray?     The  wish  is  father  to  the  thought." 

Harriet  controlled  herself  forcibly.  She  came  close  to  the 
bed.  "You  needn't  make  it  to-night,"  she  said,  softly.  "But 
you  had  better  make  it  soon." 

About  a  fortnight  later  Mynheer  Jacobus  Mopius  was  buried 
with  all  the  pomp  he  had  himself  prescribed.  All  his  virtues 
and  dignities  were  engraved  upon  his  tombstone,  so  that  his 
first  wife's  adjoining  one  looked  very  bare  by  comparison.  His 
last  words  had  been,  in  a  tremulous,  squeaky  sing-song : 

"If  tliy  dear  hand  but  lift  the  fatal  kiii-i-ife, 
I  smile,  I  faint,  and  bid  sweet  death  '  All  hail  !'  " 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

TRIUMPHANT 

The  day  after  the  attack  on  the  Manor-house  Ursula  came 
down  to  breakfast  as  usual. 

"  Has  Monk  not  been  found  yet  ?"  she  asked.  ^ 

In  the  servant's  face  she  read  disaster.  She  had  not  missed 
any  of  the  menials  in  the  hour  of  danger,  presuming  them  to  be 
hidden  away  under  bedsteads  up-stairs,  but  she  had  been  aston- 
ished by  the  prolonged  absence  of  the  dog. 

"  Yes,  Monk  had  been  found,"  said  the  servant,  uneasily. 

She  cast  a  quick  glance  at  his  shifty  eyes;  then,  without  fur- 
ther question,  she  went  down  to  the  basement,  straight  to  the 
mat  where  the  St.  Bernard  slept.  Monk  was  lying  there,  in  a 
great  huddled  mass  of  brown  and  white  wool,  motionless.  Be- 
fore she  had  come  near  she  knew  he  was  dead.  She  stood  for 
a  moment  by  his  side.  Already  the  limbs  were  stiffened,  the 
eyes  rolled  back.  She  understood  that  he  had  been  decoyed 
the  day  before,  and  poisoned. 

She  knelt  down  and  kissed  the  soft,  white  head. 

*'  I  used  to  think  I  was  alone,"  she  said,  as  she  rose. 

A  maid  came  towards  her. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  pity,  Mevrouw,  is  it  not  ?"  said  the  maid.  "  The 
old  Mevrouw  sent  me  to  ask  you  to  go  to  her  in  her  boudoir.'" 

Ursula  obeyed  the  summons.  As  she  entered,  the  Dowager 
rose  to  meet  her. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  trembling  very  much,  "  you 
saved  the  house  last  night.  I'm  afraid  I  have  not  always  been 
fair  to  you.  I  am  old,  Ursula  ;  you  must  forgive  an  old  woman's 
prejudices.  But  you  are  worthy  to  be  a  Van  Helmont.  Your 
father-in-law  would  have  appreciated  your  conduct,  my  dear." 


394  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

Henceforth  there  was  one  recent  event  on  which  the  Dowa- 
ger's mind  remained  perfectly  clear.  Its  fierce  terror  seemed  to 
have  burned  it  in.  Much  that  had  happened  since  the  old  Baron's 
death  was  a  blank  or  a  muddle,  but  she  was  always  ready  to  talk 
of  the  attack.  And  she  spoke,  therefore,  with  far  greater  kind- 
ness of  the  heroine. 

"  Yes,  Ursula  is  strong,"  assented  Tante  Louisa. 

Presently  came  the  tidings  of  Uncle  Mopius's  death,  and  very 
soon  after  that  a  letter  from  Harriet.  She  told  Ursula  quite 
frankly  that  she  intended  to  marry  again,  as  soon  as  her  period 
of  mourning  was  over,  so  that  there  would  be  no  use  in  first 
pretending  to  ignore  the  fact.  "  Therefore,"  she  wrote,  "  I 
can  only  lay  claim  to  the  ten  thousand  *  a  year  of  my  marriage 
settlements,  and,  barring  a  handsome  legacy  to  Josine,  you  are 
your  uncle's  heiress." 

Ursula  dropped  the  letter  on  her  writing-table  and  sat  think- 
ing, till  disturbed  by  one  of  Theodore's  frequent  business  calls. 
These  unavoidable  discussions  were  rarely  agreeable. 

"First,  I  can  tell  you,"  he  began,  "that  Juffers  has  been  dis- 
missed." 

"  Good,"  replied  Ursula.  "  That  is  only  right.  It  would  be 
foolish  to  pity  him." 

"Secondly,  nothing  will  result,  I  fear,  from  the  judicial  in- 
quiry as  regards  either  the  attack  on  the  house  or  the  murder 
of  the  dog." 

"That,  too,  is  natural.  It  was  a  drunken  outburst.  Still, 
somebody  must  have  been  the  deliberate  instigator,  or  the  dog- 
would  not  have  lost  his  life.  I  am  sorry  they  can't  find  out 
who  did  that." 

"  I  think  I  know.  That  new  clerk  of  Noks's  has  some  grudge 
against  you.  Would  you  like  Monk's  murderer  punished,  Ursula  ?" 

A  responsive  flame  shot  into  her  eyes.    They  met  Theodore's. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  No,  no.  Leave  the  man 
alone,  Theodore." 

"Thirdly  —  the    usual   worries.     The    old    refrain,  'Money! 

*  14100. 


TRIUMPHANT  395 

money  !'  Money  wanted  for  the  expenses  of  Gerard's  reception. 
Money  wanted  for  the  completion  of  the  cottages.  Money 
wanted  for  a  new  roof  on  the  Red-dyke  Farm.  If  only  we  had 
more  money,  Ursflta,  all  would  be  well.     As  it  is — " 

She  interrupted  him.  "  There  is  money,"  she  said.  "  1  am  a 
rich  woman,  Theodore." 

He  smiled  an  annoyed  little  smile.  "  Very  funny,"  he  said, 
"if  only—" 

"  It  is  quite  true." 

"  Oh,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly  understanding.  "  Has  that 
precious  uncle  of  yours  disinherited  his  wife  ?" 

She  colored  angrily.  "  My  uncle's  wife  is  quite  able  to  man- 
age her  own  affairs,"  she  said.  "  Be  thankful,  you,  that  hence- 
forth there  will  be  money  enough  and  to  spare." 

"  How  much  do  you  think  ?"  he  questioned,  with  a  man's 
curiosity  to  know  the  figure. 

"  Some  twenty-five  to  thirty  thousand  florins  a  year,  Theodore. 
We  shall  be  able  to  carry  out  all  your  improvements — all  Otto's 
improvements — all  that  he  used  to  say  he  would  do  if  he  could 
— all  he  could  have  done  if  he  had  married  his  cousin  Helena. 
And  I  shall  have  a  chance  of  trying  my  charity  schemes.  We 
must  build  an  Institute.  You  must  help  me,  Theodore ;  there 
will  be  heaps  to  do.  We  must  do  it  all — all  !"  She  spoke 
hurriedly,  feverishly,  as  one  who  crushes  down  a  tumult  in  her 
heart. 

Theodore  stood  looking  at  her,  his  face  puckered  and  puzzled. 
"  All  the  fun  of  the  thing  is  gone,"  he  said. 

"  The  fun  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  fun.  Can't  you  understand  ?  I  can't  explain. 
There's  nothing  more  for  to-day.     Good-morning." 

"Theodore,  I  wonder  whether  thirty  thousand  florins  will 
suffice  to  purchase  their  affection  ?"  She  paused.  "  Their  armed 
neutrality,"  she  slowly  said. 

But  when  left  alone  her  manner  changed.  She  sank  down 
by  the  window — looking  out,  looking  out.  The  other  day  in 
her  supreme  appeal  she  would  have  abandoned  everything  to 
Gerard  on   his   coming  home  ;    she   had   hoped   against  hope. 


39G  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

And  what  had  been  his  reply  ?  "  I  am  glad  you  have  it,  if  you 
like  it.  I  would  not  have  exchanged  my  struggle  for  yours." 
The  words  came  to  her  now  with  superficial  meaning;  long 
afterwards  she  learned  to  fathom  their  sorrowful  compassion. 

"  It  is  God's  doing,"  she  pleaded,  still  gazing  away  upon  the 
landscape,  "  God's  answer.  He  confided  these  hundreds  of 
human  beings  to  my  care,  and  now  gives  me  the  means  to  help 
them.  I  dare  not  abandon  them  to  Gerard — to  ruin.  RiMit  is 
an  abstract  idea.     It  were  wrong  to  do  right." 

The  next  two  days  brought  Ursula  a  strange  medley  of 
emotions.  Gerard  had  telegraphed  immediately  after  the  riot, 
offering  his  services ;  but  she  begged  him  not  to  come  over  just 
yet.    She  dreaded  all  contact  with  him.    She  dreaded  his  pale  face. 

He,  on  his  part,  gladly  held  aloof.  He  was  looking  for  a 
small  house  at  the  Hague,  where  he  expected  his  mother  to 
come  and  live  with  him.  The  Dowager  meanwhile  waited 
patiently.  Gerard  had  only  been  back  a  fortnight.  To  her  it 
seemed  one  brief  yesterday. 

Meanwhile  the  news  of  Ursula's  accession  to  wealth  filled 
the  province.  In  one  moment  the  tide  turned  completely,  and 
the  waters  of  adulation  came  running  from  all  sides  to  her 
feet.  Tenants  and  tradespeople  vied  with  each  other  in  de- 
nouncing those  who  had  wronged  her.  Demands  for  improve- 
ments and  repairs  poured  in  hourly  ;  petitioners  of  all  kinds 
jostled  accredited  beggars  on  the  Manor-house  steps.  A  rumor 
had  gone  forth  that  the  young  Baroness  really  intended  to 
spend  her  wealth  on  the  property,  and  when  early  requests  re- 
ceived a  hearing,  and  vague  projects  got  bruited,  then  enthu- 
siasm knew  no  bounds.  Not  more  than  a  week  after  the  attack 
on  the  Manor-house  Ursula  was  compelled  to  exert  herself, 
amid  a  storm  of  delation,  to  prevent  both  a  criminal  trial  and 
a  lynching  of  scape-goats  by  lesser  offenders.  She  would  have 
extended  small  mercy  to  the  poisoner  of  her  dog  had  not  a 
story  recently  reached  her  ears,  after  going  the  round  of  the 
neighborhood,  to  the  effect  that  the  notary's  new  clerk  had 
been  found  one  evening,  not  far  from  his  home,  lying  in  the 
road  unconscious,  with  the  coat  thrashed  off  his  back. 


TRIUMPHANT  397 

Ursula,  a  little  dazed  amid  this  sudden  revulsion,  could  even 
smile  at  the  faces  that  beamed  upon  her  and  serenely  decline 
the  honors  of  a  swift  counter-demonstration  after  the  manner  of 
Gerard's  reception.  She  could  make  every  excuse  for  the  fawn- 
ing of  those  whose  daily  bread  lies  in  a  master's  hand,  but  what 
hurt  her  to  the  quick  was  the  sudden  melting  of  the  "  cousins," 
who  poured  down  upon  her  like  icicles  suddenly  struck  by  the 
beams  of  a  belated  sun.  They  could  not  understand  her  shiver- 
ing in  the  bath  of  their  congratulatory  condolence.  Ursula 
pushed  the  Barons  and  Baronesses  aside. 

But  the  rush  of  popularity  was  pleasing,  even  when  correctly 
estimated;  the  importance  was  pleasing;  and  the  possibility  of 
fulfilment — the  sudden  nearness  of  life-long  ideals — was  most 
pleasing  of  all.  It  was  all  so  sudden,  so  unexpected.  Ursula, 
triumphant,  gasped  for  breath. 

One  morning,  three  days  after  the  news  reached  her,  Ursula 
rang  the  bell  and  sent  for  Tante  Louisa's  maid. 

"  Hephzibah,"  she  said,  "  if  you  are  so  wretched  in  this  house 
— and  your  face  proves  it — why  do  you  remain  ?" 

Hephzibah  began  to  whimper. 

"  Klomp  won't  have  me,"  she  said ;  "  not  unless  I  bring  him 
enough  money  to  support  me.  He  can't  but  just  support  him- 
self, he  says.  And  Pietje  and  her  child  would  have  to  be 
boarded  out." 

"  You  shall  have  the  money.  You  can  go  and  tell  him  so — 
that  is  settled." 

But  Hephzibah  lingered  with  her  apron  to  her  face. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mevrouw,"  she  said ;  "  I  never  meant  no  harm 
to  you — but  we're  all  poor,  guilty  sinners ;  and  that  woman 
Skiff,  the  insolent  liar,  pretending  to  be  wife  to  honest  folks, 
and  then  bringing  along  another  husband  of  her  own  !" 

"You  have  done  me  no  wrong  that  I  know  of,"  replied 
Ursula,  calmly ;  "  but  I  see  you  are  uncomfortable  here,  and 
I  am  willing  to  help  you.  Do  you  hear  your  foolish  voices 
still?" 

Hephzibah  shuddered ;  then  she  said,  enigmatically, 

"  No,  I  don't.     Not  after —     Nevertheless,  repentance  comes 


398  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

too  late.  I'm  not  as  bad  as  other  people,  but  I'm  doomed  to 
be  unhappy  ;  privileged,  I  should  say»" 

"  You  can  go,"  said  Ursula. 

Hephzibah  turned  by  the  door. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  the  Jonker?"  she  began,  suddenly; 
"  I  know  he  loves  you.  He  loved  you  when  he  didn't  ought  to, 
and  I  know  he  loves  you  still." 

"  Peace,  woman  !"  exclaimed  Ursula,  rising  fiercely.  "  The 
Jonker  does  not  love  me,  nor  I  him.  Go  you,  and  marry  your 
clod." 

A  few  hours  later,  as  Ursula  was  sitting  alone,  thinking — 
"  Why,"  asks  Freule  Louisa,  "  does  Ursula  always  sit  thinking, 
since  her  inheritance  came?  Is  she  counting  up  her  money? 
Oh,  fie  !" — as  Ursula  sat  alone  thinking,  a  stone  flew  suddenly 
through  her  open  window,  alighting  almost  at  her  feet.  It  had 
a  paper  attached  to  it,  and  the  paper  bore  these  words ; 

"  Beware  of  Adeline  Skiff  and  her  husband.  They  will  work 
your  downfall,  if  they  can." 

She  turned  the  paper  over  and  over.  She  had  no  doubt  that 
it  came  from  Hephzibah,  whom  she — and  the  world  generally — 
believed  to  be  mildly  crazy.  She  knew  that  Hephzibah  had 
suspicions  regarding  many  things,  but  she  also  had  always 
known  these  to  be  harmless.  Nobody  would  attach  any  impor- 
tance to  Hephzibah's  mutterings. 

Ursula  smiled  sadly. 

The  paper  lay  in  her  lap.  And  now,  unexpectedly,  as  she 
gazed  down,  a  great  fear  fell  upon  her,  she  could  not  have  told 
whence.  For  the  first  time  she  was  frightened,  afraid  of  a  se- 
cret enemy,  afraid  of  discovery,  exposure.  Who  was  this  man 
Skiff,  the  notary's  clerk  ?  What  did  he  know  ?  What  could  he 
do  ?     She  started  up. 

To  be  forced,  against  her  own  will,  to  surrender  !  To  be  com- 
pelled to  do  what  she  would  so  gladl}'^  have  done  of  her  own  ac- 
cord, if  she  had  but  known  how  !     She  set  her  teeth  tight. 

An  hour  later,  in  the  early  fall  of  the  slow  August  evening, 
Ursula  knocked  at  Skiff's  humble  door.  Adeline  opened  it,  and 
immediately  tossed  her  head.  "  And  what  may  you  please  to 
want  of  me  ?"  she  asked. 


TRIUMPHANT  399 

"  I  wish  to  speak  to  your  husband,"  replied  Ursula. 

"Find  him,  then,"  said  Adeline,  and  banged  the  door. 

The  insult  did  Ursula  good  in  this  hour  of  universal  adula- 
tion.    It  braced  her. 

She  took  a  few  steps  down  the  lonely  lane,  reflectively,  and 
then  remembered  the  public-house  at  the  end.  She  wondered 
she  had  riot  thought  of  it  before.  She  called  to  a  child  at  play, 
gave  it  a  penny,  and  bade  it  tell  Skiff  he  was  wanted  at  home 
immediately. 

"  Wanted  at  home,  you  hear !"  she  cried  after  it,  as  she  hasti- 
ly retreated. 

The  urchin  scampered  off  and  burst  into  the  bar-room.  "My 
lady  Baroness  wants  Mynheer  Skiff !"  he  screamed.  "  She's 
waiting  in  the  middle  of  the  road." 

This  bomb-shell,  at  least,  had  its  desired  effect,  which  a  quiet- 
er summons  from  Adeline  might  easily  have  missed.  Amid 
general  but  silent  astonishment,  and  much  arching  of  eyebrows, 
Skiff  started  up  and  stumbled  out. 

"  I  wonder  he  ain't  afraid  of  another  beating,"  said  one  of  the 
topers. 

"  He  gets  drunk  so  as  not  to  be  afraid,"  replied  another. 

Ursula's  heart  almost  failed  her  when  she  saw  the  miserable 
little  creature  come  lurching  down  the  lane.  Oh,  the  humilia- 
tion of  condescending  to  such  a  low  hound  as  this !  At  this 
moment,  standing  awaiting  his  approach,  she  touched  the  low- 
est depth  in  all  her  long  descent  of  suffering. 

She  had  not  made  up  her  mind  what  to  do.  She  had  no 
plan.  Only  she  was  resolved,  in  accordance  with  her  character, 
immediately  to  face  uncertainty. 

He  slouched  up  and  jerked  his  hat,  "  And  what  can  I  do  for 
you,  ma'am  ?"  he  said. 

She  sickened  at  his  manner,  feeling  as  if  a  snail  were  creep- 
ing across  her  hand.  "  Answer  a  simple  question,"  she  replied. 
"  What  do  you  want  of  me  ?" 

He  swayed  to  and  fro,  passing  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 
"  I'm  a  poor  man,"  he  said,  "  a  very  poor  man.  A  little  money 
never  comes  amiss." 

"Money?"  she  echoed.     "  What  should  I  give  you  money 


400  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

for?  Drink?  You  will  get  no  black-mail  out  of  me!"  Her 
gorge  rose ;  she  felt  her  pulse  grow  steady  again. 

"  Now,  ma'am,  best  be  civil,"  remonstrated  Skiff,  with  tipsy 
ferocity.  "  Black-mail  isn't  the  word,  yet  there's  stories  enough 
about  you  to  make  a  little  hush-money  worth  your  while.  You'd 
better  pay  up,  my  lady  ;  you'd  better  pay  up  !" 

"  Threats  !  And  to  me  !"  exclaimed  Ursula,  scornfully.  But 
at  this  moment  the  cottage  door  was  thrown  open  and  Adeline 
came  running  out. 

"  Don't  let  her  off  too  easy  !"  cried  Adeline.  ''  Skiff,  you 
fool,  how  much  did  you  say  ?  It  shall  be  five  thousand  florins 
if  it's  a  penny,  my  lady.  Or  we'll  show  you  up,  Baroness  Ilel- 
mont  of  the  Horst !" 

With  Gerard's  return  Adeline  had  grown  utterly  reckless  in 
her  fierce  hatred  of  Ursula. 

"  I  am  glad  you  speak  so  plainly,"  said  Ursula,  coldly.  *'  In 
this  manner  you  will  certainly  never  get  a  penny  out  of  we." 

For  only  answer  Adeline  poured  out  a  flood  of  accusation, 
sprinkled  with  foul  language,  from  which  Ursula  gathered  for 
the  first  time  what  tales  had  been  circulated  against  her  in  the 
village. 

She  stood  frozen  to  marble — to  marble  splashed  with  mud 
that  no  current  of  years  would  ever  again  remove.  "  That  is 
all  ?"  she  said  at  length,  when  Adeline  paused  for  breath. 

"  All !"  shrieked  the  woman.  "  Skiff,  d'ye  hear  my  lady  ? 
She  don't  think  it's  enough  !  I  wonder  what  your  two  lovers 
'11  say,  madam,  Theodore  and  Gerard !" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  growled  the  man,  shamefacedly,  "  or 
I'll  make  you.  She  has  such  a  temper,  my  lady,  she  goes  off 
her  head  at  times.  I  hope  your  nobleness  '11  forgive  her  and 
remember  I'm  a  poor  man." 

Ursula  had  understood,  as  the  torrent  swept  down  upon  her, 
that  these  people  knew  nothing — absolutely  nothing.  They 
could  not  hurt  her,  except  by  such  vague  slander  as  any  man 
may  speak.  Her  secret  was  still  her  own,  entirely  her  own, 
shared  by  none  but  a  half-crazy  creature,  whose  tardy  story,  if 
told,  would  never  carry  conviction.  And  now  her  set  face  grew 
gentle,  and  the  floodgates  of  her  charity  opened. 


TRIUMPHANT,  401 

"  I  will  arrange  for  your  emigrating  to  Canada,"  she  said,  "if 
you  promise  to  sign  the  pledge." 

"  Oh,  I'll  sign  it,  and  willingly,"  answered  Skiff.  <'  If  I  may 
make  so  bold,  how  much  would  you  make  it,  my  lady  ?" 

"  That  will  depend  on  many  things,"  replied  Ursula,  and 
turned  to  go.     "  I  will  have  no  money  wasted." 

Adeline  stood  in  the  path,  looking  as  if  she  would  fain  have 
struck  her  successful  rival. 

Ursula  paused. 

"  You  poor  thing,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  understand  what  you 
have  against  me.  I  am  in  no  way  responsible  for  your  ruin. 
Believe  me,  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  persuade  Baron  van  Hel- 
mont  to  make  you  his  wife." 

No  other  words  the  Baroness  could  have  uttered  would  have 
enraged  Adeline  more  than  these.  The  woman  stood  foaming 
at  the  mouth  with  the  hysterical  passion  of  her  class. 

"  You  !  You  !"  she  sobbed  out.  "  He  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  do  you  hear,  like  the  true-hearted  gentleman  he  was ! 
And  I  threw  him  over  for  Skiff  I  What  I  said  later  was  a  lie, 
as  you  know;  but  I'd  have  kept  up  the  game  if  the  child  hadn't 
died,  as  it  did  last  year,  more's  the  pity  !  And  I  could  have  been 
Baroness  van  Helmont,  if  I'd  chosen.  So  there  !  You  can  take 
my  leavings,  madame." 

Ursula  cam.e  a  step  closer ;  her  face  seemed  to  alter  sudden- 
ly. "  Answer  before  God,"  she  said  ;  "  did  Gerard  van  Helmont 
offer  you  marriage  before  your  child  was  born  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  tell  you — yes  !"  laughed  back  Adeline,  impudently. 
"  There ;  you  didn't  expect  that,  did  you  ?  There's  pleasant 
news  for  my  lady  so  proud !  Take  Miss  Adeline's  leavings, 
do!" 

The  man,  who  had  stood  watching  them,  stumbled  forward. 

"  Go  in,  d'ye  hear  ?"  he  said,  roughly,  "  or  I'll  give  you  another 
taste  of  yesterday's  dinner."  He  turned  to  Ursula  with  a  leer 
he  intended  for  a  smile.  "  You  must  forgive  her,  Mevrouw," 
he  said,  bowing.  "  She's  a  bit  fantastical,  as  I  said,  but  I  know 
how  to  manage  her.  I  hope  that  Mevrouw  will  kindly  remem- 
ber the  arrangement  she  has  just  made  with  myself." 

26 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

A    WIFE    FOR    GERARD 

Ursula  walked  back  through  the  darkening  fields.  She 
knew  herself  now  to  be  safe,  yet  she  hung  as  one  trembling  in 
the  recoil  from  the  flash  across  a  sudden  abyss.  Supposing  she 
had  discovered  that  these  horrible  creatures  held  her  in  their 
power  ?  Would  she  have  flung  herself  down  into  degradation 
unspeakable?  She  hoped  not;  she  trusted  not.  Yet  the  op- 
pression of  wrong-doing  was  upon  her,  the  fatal  closing  of  suc- 
cessive links,  the  terror  of  the  "  might  have  been." 

Then  every  other  reflection  died  away,  and  one  thought  only 
spread  large  in  falling  shadows  across  the  clear  blue  sky. 

How  greatly  had  she  wronged  Gerard  through  all  the  silent 
years !  It  was  but  a  single  point — this  question  of  Adeline's 
ruin  ;  it  was  "no  business  of  Ursula's" — oh,  pure  sisters  of  the 
impure  ! — yet  how  deeply  had  it  influenced  her  womanly  heart 
in  all  her  thoughts  of  him  !  She  could  understand,  in  her  own 
pride,  his  haughty  shrinking  from  self-assertion  before  the  bar 
of  her  complacency.  How  many  err  as  he !  How  few  make 
good  their  error !  She  saw  things  more  calmly  now  than  in 
that  ignorant  girlhood  which  seemed  to  lie  so  far  behind  her. 
Her  thoughts  dwelt  sweetly  on  the  companion  of  her  childhood  ; 
his  happy,  noisy  youth,  his  early  manhood,  now  so  steadfast  in 
its  slow  endurance.  And  her  strong  eyes  grew  dim  beneath  the 
dying  day. 

On  the  steps  of  the  Manor-house  a  gay  party  were  assembled, 
laughing  and  talking,  in  a  bouquet  of  bright  dresses.  Helena 
van  Troyen  ran  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  We  have  been  waiting  to  see  you,"  she  cried.  "  I  have 
brought  Toddlums  —  the  baby — and  also  some  one  I  knew 
would  interest  you  all — Gerard's  Colonel  from  Acheen." 


A    WIFE    FOR    GERARD  403 

"  How  delighted  mamma  will  have  been  !"  said  Ursula,  a  little 
hypocritically,  as  she  advanced  to  be  introduced  to  a  tall  gen- 
tleman, all  brick-dust  and  mustache. 

"  Colonel  Vuurmont's  descriptions  of  Gerard's  bravery  are  too 
charmingly  thrilling,"  said  Helena.  "  Dear  Gerard  !  And  so 
romantic !  Tell  Mevrouw  van  Helmont,  Colonel,  about  that  bit 
of  brown  glove." 

"  Mevrouw,  Mevrouw,  that  is  a  kind  of  a  sort  of  a  secret,"  ex- 
postulated the  Colonel,  looking  slightly  bored. 

"A  secret!  when  half  a  dozen  men  saw  it  produced,  and  all 
Kotta  Radja  knew  and  teased  him  about  it  afterwards !  Non- 
sense !  Ursula,  you  must  know  that  when  Gerard  was  so  terri- 
bly wounded — terribly  wounded,  it  appears,  and  in  four  differ- 
ent places — they  found  an  old  brown  kid  glove  on  his  breast. 
Isn't  that  delicipus  ?  I  had  hoped  the  glove  was  mine,  but  Gerard 
says  it  wasn't.  There,  nurse  has  let  Toddlums  upset  herself 
again.  Come,  Ursula ;  I  can't  bear  to  hear  the  child  scream  like 
that." 

The  two  men  remained  on  the  steps.  "  You  must  know.  Van 
Troyen,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  that  Helmont  maintains  there  is  no 
love-story  connected  with  that  glove  at  all ;  only  it  would  be  a 
pity  to  spoil  your  wife's  amusement.  He  says  that  the  glove 
saved  his  life  in  a  duel,  through  his  adversary  slipping  on  it, 
and  that  he  wore  it  as  a  kind  of  talisman." 

"  I  certainly  remember  about  a  duel,"  replied  Willie,  "  with  a 
foreign  officer,  who  had  said,  I  believe,  that  Dutch  soldiers  were 
wanting  in  courage." 

"  Helmont  was  just  the  right  man  to  say  that  to,"  remarked 
the  Colonel,  quietly. 

"  Ursula,  I  have  got  a  wife  for  Gerard  at  last,"  said  Helena, 
fondling  her  baby.  "  On  the  whole,  I  think,  she  is  suitable, 
though  it  has  cost  me  a  lot  of  trouble  to  admit  it.  But  I  am 
growing  old,  and  have  a  baby,  and  one  learns  to  see  things  dif- 
ferently. I  have  talked  to  him  about  it  all,  and  I  think  he  un- 
derstands." 

"  Really  !"  replied  Ursula,  much  interested  in  Toddlums. 

"  But  men  are  so  contrary  !  He  pretends  that  he  is  going  to 
live  in  the  Hague  with  his  mother,  and  never  marry.      Gerard 


404  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

never  marry  !  'Ah,  quel  dommage  d'un  si  bel  homme !'  I 
have  explained  all  about  it  to  aunt.  She  is  rather  exacting,  but, 
on  the  whole,  I  believe  she  agrees  with  me." 

''Has  this  young  lady  means  of  her  own  ?"  asked  Ursula. 

"  Fie !  what  a  question !  The  very  last  I  should  have  ex- 
pected from  you !  Yes,  the  lady  has  means  of  her  own.  She 
has  recently  come  into  a  fortune.  They  will  be  able  to  live  in 
some  style,  as  the  Baron  and  Baroness  van  Helmont  should." 

"And  you  think  Gerard  consents?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  feel  sure  he  will.  To  begin  with,  he  says  he 
won't,  which  is  always  a  very  good  sign.  And  then  there  are 
others.     I  suppose  you  have  no  idea  who  the  lady  is?" 

Helena  looked  up  sharply,  with  petulant  good  -  will,  into 
Ursula's  grave  face. 

"  I  ?     No  ;  how  should  I  tell  ?     Do  I  know  her  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  better  than  I  ever  did.  But,  really,  we  must  be 
going ;  we  have  missed  our  train  as  it  is.  I  was  so  anxious  to 
tell  you  about  this  coming  marriage  of  Gerard's,  and  to  express 
my  admiration  of  your  bravery  last  week,  that,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  birth,  I  have  neglected  Toddlums.  Colonel  Vuurmont 
admires  you  awfully,  Ursula.  He  says  he  wishes  he  had  had 
you  out  in  Acheen." 

"  He  had  Gerard,"  replied  Ursula,  simply. 

That  evening  the  young  Baroness's  "  family  circle  "  gathered, 
as  usual,  round  the  shaded  lamp.  Ursula  tried  hard  to  bestow 
due  attention  on  Tante  Louisa's  prattle ;  the  Dowager  had  sunk 
to  sleep  over  a  bundle  of  letters  which  she  had  been  laboriously 
sorting,  first  according  to  their  writers,  and  then,  all  over  again, 
according  to  their  dates. 

Tlie  month's  Victoj-y  lay  spread  out  befor-e  Tante  Louisa,  who 
was  holding  forth  in  Batavo-Carlylese. 

"  Napoleon  was  the  world's  ruler  by  right  of  power,"  said 
Louisa.  "Kings  are  they  who  can  rule.  An  hereditary  king  is 
a  puppet." 

"  But  the  other  day  you  sang  the  praises  of  heredity,"  sug- 
gested Ursula,  politely. 

"  Did  I  ?     Well,  that  also  was  consistent.     We  praise  things 


A    WIFE    FOR    GERARD  405 

for  the  good  in  them ;  we  blame  for  the  bad.  There  is  nothing 
so  consistent  as  inconsistency." 

A  tap  at  the  terrace-window  awoke  the  Dowager.  The  Domi- 
ne  stood  outside  with  Josine.  Ursula  started  up  in  delight, 
for  her  father's  visits  were  of  the  rarest. 

The  Freule  immediately  took  possession  of  the  pastor,  while 
Josine  considerately  settled  down  by  the  Dowager  to  tell  her  of 
recent  successes  gained  by  Sympathetico  in  arresting  mental 
decline. 

"  I  disagree  utterly,"  broke  out  the  Domine,  as  soon  as  he  had 
heard  a  few  words  of  Louisa's  jargon.  "  The  world  is  not  ruled 
by  human  strength,  forsooth  !  but  by  the  power  of  God.  In 
big  things  and  little,  it  is  we  who  make  trouble  by  not  march- 
ing straight.  If  only  we  would  do  the  moment's  duty,  leaving 
the  responsibility  to  the  Commander-in  chief !  To  do  a  great 
right,  do  a  little  wrong  !"  exclaimed  the  Domine,  spluttering  in 
his  energy.  "  It  is  the  worst  lie  ever  invented !  It  is  the  curse 
of  a  little  evil  conscientiously  done  that  wrong  must  breed 
wrong  forever.  Satan  himself  is  nearer  than  a  Jesuit  to  the 
kingdom  of  God !" 

Suddenly  Ursula  looked  up  from  her  work.  "  Is  that  not 
putting  it  rather  strongly,  papa  ?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  the  simplest  of  Christ's  teachings,"  cried  the  excited 
Domine.  "  It  is  the  deepest  conviction  of  my  heart.  Never 
was  good  got  out  of  a  false  start !  To  deny  that  is  the  confu- 
sion of  all  distinctions — the  death  of  all  discipline.  Ursula, 
would  you  make  of  the  Lord's  army  a  company  of  free-shoot- 
ers ?  Right  is  right ;  wrong  is  wrong ;  shout  it  out  upon  the 
house-tops !  If  you  don't  know,  for  the  moment,  what  is  right, 
ask  God  to  help  you.  When  you  know,  do  it.  That  is  all  phi- 
losophy and  all  religion.  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  duty 
thereof  !" 

He  had  got  up,  pacing  the  room  with  rapid. stride,  and  waving 
his  empty  sleeve. 

"  I'm  excited,  ladies,"  he  said,  wiping  his  forehead.  "  This 
afternoon  I  heard  the  dying  confession  of  a  man  who  has  ruined 
his  whole  life  and  his  brother's  by  a  generous  lie  told  in  his 
youth.     It  is  not  to  remain  a  secret ;  I  will  tell  the  story  to  you 


406  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

some  day.  Well,  Mevrouw,  that  is  a  pretty  child  of  Helena  van 
Troyen's !" 

"  Captain,  listen."  Ursula  followed  her  father  out  on  to  the 
terrace  after  he  had  taken  leave.     "  Do  you  really  mean  it  all  ?" 

He  did  not  ask  what  she  alluded  to,  but  answered  straight: 
"  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  You  know  I  mean  it.  Re- 
member our  talk  about  Gerard.  And  you,  too,  mean  it.  Did 
you  not  go  down  last  week,  like  a  soldier's  daughter,  to  face 
the  mob !" 

"  Papa — "  began  Ursula. 

"  Why  are  the  Helmonts  going  away  ?"  asked  Josine's  voice 
behind  her.  "  I  shall  miss  Theodore's  mother  very  much.  She 
is  a  good,  plain,  sensible  body,  and  not  above  taking  judicious 
advice." 

"  Going  away  ?     How  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Ursula. 

"  Yes,  going  away.  Don't  you  know  ?  How  odd  !  She  told 
me  that  Theodore  had  come  in  this  afternoon,  after  having  met 
the  Van  Troyens,  and  had  said  in  his  disagreeable  way  (though 
she  didn't  call  it  that,  but  I  think  him  very  disagreeable), 
*  Mother,  our  work  here  is  done ;  we  are  going  back  to  Bois- 
le-Duc'  She  couldn't  get  anything  more  out  of  him.  He 
went  away  and  banged  the  door.     So  selfish." 

"  Josine  !"  called  the  Domine  on  ahead. 

"  Coming  !  coming,  Roderigue.  How  odd,  Ursula,  that  you 
didn't  know  that !" 

Ursula  stood  looking  after  her  father's  vanished  figure.  "  To- 
morrow I  shall  tell  him,"  she  said» 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

FACE    TO    FACE   WITH    HERSELF 

She  stood  on  the  terrace,  amid  the  gloom  of  the  placid, 
moonless  night.  The  great  house  gleamed  dully  white  behind 
her,  and  the  wealth  of  foliage  that  embowered  it  stretched  in 
black  masses  beyond. 

"  It  is  the  end,"  she  said,  clutching  at  the  flimsy  folds  about 
her  throat.     "  What  a  pitiful  little  end  it  is  !" 

Fronting  the  facts  calmly,  as  was  her  manner,  she  knew 
everything  she  had  striven  for  to  be  now  fully  in  her  power. 
At  last  every  enemy  was  silenced,  every  danger  averted ;  with 
the  money  just  inherited  she  could  begin  her  great  work  of  re- 
generative charity ;  in  fulfilling  her  dead  husband's  ideals  she 
could  accomplish  her  own. 

Had  she  desired  greatness  for  herself,  now  was  the  moment 
to  grasp  it  firmly  as  it  lay  in  her  hand.  "No,  I  have  not  de- 
sired it  for  myself,"  she  said  aloud. 

She  had  done  her  evil  deed  for  Otto's  sake,  for  the  sake  of 
all  these  Helmonts.  She  had  done  it  with  the  desperate  self- 
persuasion  that  the  wrong  she  was  committing  was  better  than 
all  right.  She  had  taught  herself  fiercely  to  believe  it  so, 
^strengthened  again  and  again  in  the  teeth  of  growing  convic- 
tion, by  Gerard's  recklessness,  by  Otto's  dying  entreaty,  by 
her  own  invigorating  failures,  dangers,  sudden  deliverances. 
She  had  struggled  to  believe  that  God  Himself  was  helping  her 
in  this  self-appointed  mission — the  saving  of  Horstwyk  and  all 
its  dependencies  under  her  righteous  rule. 

She  knew  now  that  the  truth  was  otherwise.  She  had  known 
it  long,  with  a  gathering  clearness  that  broke  in  sunlight 
through  the  fogs  of  her  own  calling  up  ;  but  now,  in  the  sud- 


408  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

den  liiish  of  the  contest,  the  falling  away  of  all  adverse  winds 
to  dead  calm,  she  saw  God's  reality  of  right  as  she  had  not  be- 
held it  before.  Right  is  right.  Little  wrongs  do  not  bring 
forth  great  blessings.     Her  father,  in  his  simplicity,  spoke  true. 

She  herself — what  had  she  called  up  in  the  hearts  of  these 
people  around  her,  by  the  sense  of  the  great  wrong  done  to 
Gerard,  but  a  foolish,  fruitless  hate,  to  be  bought  off  now  by 
the  vilest  of  all  persuaders — gold  ?  She  loathed — -suddenly — 
this  filthy  popularity  she  had  thought  pleasant  for  the  moment. 
Better,  a  thousand  times  better,  the  frank  rebellion  against  her 
stern  and  sterile  righteousness,  better  than  this.  And  for  her 
own  heart — she  knew  that  her  sin  had  brought  her  own  heart 
no  profit.  Far  from  it.  With  loathing  she  remembered  Heph- 
zibah  and  Adeline  and  Skiff,  and  all  the  possibilities  of  shame. 
Oh,  her  father  was  right,  a  thousand  times.  The  outcome  of 
evil  is  evil,  the  outcome  of  sin  is  sin. 

She  had  been  resolved  ever  since  the  day  of  Gerard's  return 
to  Horstwyk,  though  she  was  not  aware  of  her  own  resolve,  to 
give  up  the  Manor  to  its  rightful  lord.  Resolved  to  do  it,  come 
what  may,  leaving  the  further  development  of  events  to  Him 
whose  the  end  will  most  certainly  be  if  only  the  beginning  be 
His. 

She  would  have  done  it  at  all  costs,  but  now  God,  in  His 
mercy,  made  the  duty  yet  plainer.  The  moment  was  come  to 
which  she  had  ever  looked  forward,  when  the  Manor  would  be 
safe  in  Gerard's  hands.  He  was  about  to  unite  himself  in  mar- 
riage to  some  wealthy  woman.  He  would  be  able,  as  Helena 
had  unwittingly  pointed  out,  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  his  position. 

So  far,  so  good.  She  could  reason  calmly;  she  could  even 
face  the  shame  of  her  confession.  She  could  see  herself  point- 
ed at,  hooted  by  all.  She  would  be  punished,  she  supposed, 
when  the  crime  got  abroad.  Even  if  the  Van  Helmonts  were 
merciful — as  why  should  they  be  ? — Government  punished  such 
criminals  as  she.  She  would  be  sentenced,  in  open  court,  to  a 
long  period  of  solitary  confinement  or  of  penal  servitude — she 
did  not  know  which — as  a  common  convict.  That  was  inevitable. 
She  stopped  for  one  moment  in  her  rapid  walk  along  the  ter- 
race.    Pooh,  she  had  judged  that  issue  so  many  times  already  ! 


FACE    TO    FACE    WITH    HERSELF  409 

When  a  citizen  commits  a  crime,  the  State  must  attempt  to 
check  him.  The  State  punishes  crime,  and  God  punishes  sin. 
The  two  have  but  little  in  common.     So  far,  so  good. 

But  now  !  now  !  She  pressed  both  hands  to  her  forehead, 
staring  out  wildly  into  the  darkness.  She  loved  Gerard.  She 
knew  that  she  loved  him.  She  loved  him  since  his  return  ;  but 
Adeline's  confession  had  opened  the  floodgates  of  her  heart's 
admiration  for  the  man  she  had  wronged.  She  was  one  of 
those  women  who  fancy  there  can  be  no  love  without  respect ; 
she  had  taught  her  own  soul  that  early  lesson.  But  now  she 
knew  that  she  loved  him.  She  had  honored  Otto  and  dutifully 
admired  him,  but  this — now  at  last  she  recognized  it — was  love. 
She  loved  his  manliness,  his  uprightness,  his  chivalry  ;  the  pale 
face  she  herself  had  discolored,  the  form  she  had  wounded,  the 
glory  her  guilt  had  called  forth.  Aye,  she  even  loved  the 
memory  of  youthful  errors  courageously  atoned  for. 

God  punishes  sin.  Perhaps,  if  she  had  let  all  things  take 
their  natural  course,  Gerard  might  in  due  time  have  made  her 
his  wife.  However  that  be,  now,  at  any  rate,  nothing  need 
have  kept  them  apart.  For  she  knew  that  Gerard  also  loved 
her,  in  spite  of  this  unwilling  marriage  to  which  his  womankind 
were  pressing  him.  And  between  her  and  him  arose  up,  for  all 
eternity,  the  shadow  of  her  crime.  She  herself  must  speak  the 
word,  crushing  down  his  righteous  love  into  a  pool  of  scorn. 

She  sank  by  the  parapet,  with  her  face  on  the  stone,  and 
then  nothing  disturbed  the  breathless  silence  but  one  sudden, 
suddenly  arrested  moan. 

When  Ursula  came  down  next  morning  there  were  circles 
under  her  eyes.  Yet  she  had  slept  peacefully  enough  towards 
dawn.  It  must  have  been  the  merest  accident  that  Aunt 
Louisa  noticed — for  the  first  time,  she  declared — some  faint 
suggestion  of  gray  about  her  niece's  brown  ripple  of  hair. 

"  I  am  going  to  town  on  business,"  said  Ursula,  "  so  I  shall 
want  the  carriage,  if  you  please." 

"  Dear  me,  how  annoying  !"  exclaimed  Tante  Louisa.  "  I 
had  been  wanting  to  drive  across  to  Mevrouw  Noks,  and  arrange 
about  Tryphena.    You're  sure  you  couldn't  select  another  day  ?" 


410  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

"  Quite  sure,"  answered  Ursula,  cutting  bread.  "  It  is  busi- 
ness which  can't  be  put  off." 

"  Well,  that's  very  provoking.  But  if  you're  going  to  town 
you  must  bring  me  some  floss-silk  from  the  Berlin-wool  shop." 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Hague,"  answered  Ursula. 

"The  Hao'ue?  Oh,  vou're  sure  to  be  able  to  match  it  there. 
I  must  give  you  a  bit  to  take  with  you."  Tante  Louisa  felt 
aggrieved,  for  did  she  not  pay  her  "pension"? 

Ursula,  alone  in  her  compartment  between  Horstwyk  and 
Drum,  could  not  but  reflect  on  her  first  railway  journey  with 
Gerard.  "  The  great  of  this  earth  are  above  the  common  law." 
She  smiled  bitterly  at  the  thought  of  the  error.  There  may  be 
two  social  laws  for  high  and  humble ;  there  may  be  even  two 
civic  laws  for  rich  and  poor — there  are  no  two  laws  of  right 
and  wrong;  with  the  Judofc  of  all  the  Earth. 

But  at  Drum  acquaintances  got  in,  and  she  had  to  talk  of 
the  weather.  She  said  it  was  very  fine,  though  a  little  too 
warm.  It  was  a  pity,  she  said,  that  the  days  were  growing  so 
short  already. 

Arrived  at  the  Hague,  she  thought  she  had  better  begin  by 
hunting  for  Aunt  Louisa's  silk.  She  tried  several  shops  with- 
out success.  At  last  she  found  herself  compelled  regretfully  to 
desist. 

She  hailed  a  passing  tram-car,  which  took  her  to  Gerard's 
lodgings.  As  she  lifted  an  unfaltering  hand  to  the  bell  the 
door  was  suddenly  drawn  back,  and  Gerard  himself  appeared, 
coming  out.     Both  of  them  started  aside  for  the  moment. 

"  You  here  ?"  exclaimed  the  Baron.  "  We  very  nearly  missed 
each  other.     I  had  no  idea  you  were  coming." 

"  Nor  had  I,"  she  replied,  "  till  I  came.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you,  Gerard." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented,  without  inviting  her  to  enter.  "  Can  I 
walk  on  with  you  ?  I  am  due  at  the  Ministry  in  half  an  hour. 
You  have  connections,  if  I  remember  right,  in  the  Hague  ?" 

"  I  was  coming  to  you,"  she  answered.  "  Let  me  go  into 
your  room  for  a  moment.     I  shall  not  keep  you." 

Reluctantly  he  led  the  way. 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  HERSELF  411 

The  thud  of  the  closing  door  crashed  down  upon  her  heart ; 
in  the  sudden  stillness  and  shutting-out  she  realized  that  the 
crisis  was  come  :  her  courage  sank.  And  while  leaning  against 
some  unnoticed  support  she  was  angry  with  the  pride  within 
her  which  could  not  as  much  as  ask  for  a  glass  of  water.  The 
room  swam  past  her  eyes  in  a  swift  recognition  of  many  famil- 
iar objects  —  mementos  of  her  child  -  life  with  the  owner — 
among  a  recent  glitter  of  gaudy  trophies  and  gleaming  swords. 
As  he  threw  back  his  coat  she  noticed,  with  dull  indifference, 
that  he  was  dressed  for  some  Ministerial  mid -day  reception. 
Somehow  she  connected  this  fact  with  his  life  in  society,  his 
search  for  a  suitable  wife.  She  sank  into  a  large  arm-chair, 
shielding  her  brow  for  one  instant  with  both  hands. 

Gerard  waited,  standing  by  his  writing-table.  The  room 
seemed  very  subdued  after  the  glare  of  the  noisy  street. 

Presently  she  lifted  her  still  white  face — as  a  vessel  might 
right  herself,  suddenly  becalmed.  ♦ 

"  Gerard,"  she  said,  "  I  have  come  to  tell  you  something  I 
have  long  been  wanting  to  tell  you ;  but  I  didn't  tell  you,  and 
that  makes  it  all  the  worse.    I  have  wronged  you  very  cruelly." 

She  rose  and  remained  standing  before  his  stern  attitude, 
grown  suddenly  rigid,  his  crossed  arms,  and. relentlessly  down- 
cast gaze. 

"  I  am  not  come  to  ask  forgiveness,"  she  went  on,  hurried- 
ly. "  I  am  come  to  make  confession  and  then  to  leave  you. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  confess.  Gerard,  when 
Otto  died,  and  Baby,  it  all  depended,  you  remember,  upon  the 
question  who  died  first.  I  said  that  it  was  Otto  who  died,  and 
I  inherited  the  property  from  Baby." 

She  paused  with  a  gasp.     He  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"  It  was  Baby  who  died  before  Otto,  Gerard,  and  you  were 
Otto's  heir." 

A  faint  flush  crept  over  Gerard's  firm-set  cheeks.  It  was  the 
only  proof  that  he  had  understood. 

"  That  is  all  I  have  to  say,"  she  went  on,  in  the  silence  clos- 
ing round  her.  "  But  I  wanted  to  say  it  to  you  first  before  re- 
peating it  to  strangers." 

Then,  suddenly,  amid  that  deepening  stillness,  she  felt  that 


412  MY    LADY    NOBODY 

she  must  get  away,  must  escape,  and  she  hurried  towards  the 
door. 

*'  Ursula !"  said  Gerard's  voice  behind  her,  quite  gently. 

She  turned;  he  had  lifted  his  eyes,  and  his  steadfast  gaze  met 
hers. 

"  Have  you  really  nothing  to  say  ?"  he  continued.  "  No  ex- 
planation ?     No  extenuation  of  such  conduct  ?     No  excuse  ?" 

She  drew  herself  up.  "  What  would  be  the  use  of  all  that  ?" 
she  answered,  coldly.  "  Who  listens  to  a  criminal's  perversions? 
I  have  told  you  now,  and  you  know." 

"  I  knew  before,"  he  said. 

When  the  words  had  struck  her  ear,  an  instant  of  expectation 
intervened.  Then  she  caught  at  the  wall  beside  her,  saw  him, 
as  she  did  so,  check  a  futile  impulse  to  sprmg  forward,  and 
once  more  stood  outwardly  calm. 

"  I  learned  the  news  some  weeks  ago,"  he  continued.  "  On 
the  night  before  the  battle,  as  it  happened.  I  got  a  letter  from 
— some  one  who  knew." 

"  From  Hephzibah,"  said  Ursula.  "  But  then  —  when  you 
came  back — why — " 

"  When  I  came  back  I  told  her  to  await  my  good  pleasure. 
I  myself  was  waiting  for  this  moment,  Ursula.  God  only  knows 
how  I  have  waited  for  it,  hoped  for  it — "     Pie  broke  off. 

"  Then  be  thankful  it  has  come,"  she  answered,  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  righteous  abandonment. 

"Yes,  it  has  come.     And  now  there  is  nothing  else  to  say  V 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  else  to  say." 

She  fancied  she  caught  a  strange  flicker  in  his  firmly  fixed 
eyes. 

"  And  of  what  use  will  the  Manor-house  be  to  a  poor  beggar 
like  myself  ?"  he  went  on.  "  You  had  much  better  have  kept 
it — you,  who  are  rich." 

She  flushed  scarlet  under  the  taunt. 

"  May  I  go  ?"  she  asked,  almost  meekly,  under  the  pain  at  her 
heart.  "  You  will  do  what  you  like  with  the  Manor.  Perhaps 
you  will  sell  it.  Though  Helena  van  Troyen  tells  me  you  are 
going  to  marry  a  rich  wife  of  her  choosing — and  your  own." 

"  Did  Helena  van  Troyen  tell  you  that  ?"  he  asked,  uncrossing 


FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  HERSELF  413 

his  arms,  and  the  brightness  of  liis  nature  seemed  to  come  flow- 
ing hack  from  all  sides. 

"  Yes ;  but  do  not  be  afraid.  She  mentioned  no  names.  Be- 
sides, it  is  no  business  of  mine.  I  do  not  know  whom  she 
means." 

"  I  am  sorry  it  is  no  business  of  yours,"  replied  Gerard,  com- 
ing boldly  forward,  "  for,  Ursula,  she  means  yourself." 

"She — she — "  stammered  Ursula. 

"And  so  do  I."  Very  quietly  he  put  his  arm  around  her, 
and  drew  down  the  tired  head  upon  his  breast.  "We  have 
both  of  us  suffered  quite  enough,"  he  said. 

The  tears  came  swelling  across  her  eyes. 

"  Through  my  fault,"  she  whispered — "  my  fault." 

"  Let  me  find  the  criminal's  extenuations,  Ursula.  Do  you 
really  think,  you  poor,  noble  creature,  that  I  do  not  under- 
stand ?" 

"  I  must  confess  to  my  father,"  she  continued,  in  the  same 
tremulous  whisper.     "  To  my  father  and  the  world." 

"To  your  father,  if  you  will.  But  the  world  has  not  been 
injured  by  anything  you  have  done,  and  you  owe  it  no  repara- 
tion. It  is  not  our  function  to  supply  the  world  with  the  empty 
scandals  it  delights  in.  Suffering  is  a  holy  but  a  very  awful 
thing.     We  will  have  no  more  superfluous  suffering,  Ursula." 

"  It  shall  all  be  as  you  wish,"  she  humbly  answered,  her  head 
at  rest  upon  his  shoulder.  She  closed  her  eyes.  "  Gerard,  I 
am  not  afraid  of  them.  I  was  never  afraid  of  them.  But  from 
the  very  first,  I  think,  I  was  afraid  of  God." 

"  God  be  thanked  for  it !"  said  Gerard,  softly.  And  a  flood 
of  sunlight,  falling  leisurely  around  them,  lighted  into  sudden 
brilliance  the  cross  upon  his  breast. 


THE   END 


WILLIAM  BLACK^«  NOVELS. 


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Mexico,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


By  a.  con  an  DOYLE 


The   Refugees.     A  Tale  of  Two   Continents.      Illustrated. 
Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  75. 

A  masterly  work.  ...  It  is  not  every  year,  or  even  every  decade,  wbicli 
produces  one  historical  novel  of  such  quality — Spectator,  London. 

The  White  Company.     Illustrated.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Orna- 
mental, $1  75. 

...  Dr.  Doyle's  stirring  romance,  the  best  historical  fiction  he  lias 
done,  and  one  of  the  best  novels  of  its  kind  to-day. — Hartford  Courant. 

Micah    Clarke.     Illustrated.     Post   8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental, 
$175;  also  Svo,  Paper,  45  cents. 

A  noticeable  book,  because  it  carries  the  reader  out  of  the  beaten 
track;  it  makes  him  now  and  then  hold  his  breath  with  excitement;  it 
presents  a  series  of  vivid  pictures  and  paints  two  capital  portraits  ;  and  it 
leaves  upon  the  mind  the  impression  of  well-rounded  symmetry  and  com- 
pleteness.— R.  E.  Pkothero,  in  Tho.  Nineteenth  Century. 

Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     Illustrated.     Post  Svo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 

Memoirs    of    Sherlock    Holmes.      Illustrated.      Post   Svo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50. 

Few  writers  excel  Conan  Doyle  in  this  class  of  literature.  His  style, 
vigorous,  terse,  and  thoughtful,  united  to  a  nice  knowledge  of  the  human 
mind,  makes  every  character  a  profoundly  interesting  psychological  study. 
— Chicago  Inter- Ocean. 

The  Parasite.     A  Story.     Illustrated.     Post  Svo,  Cloth,  Or- 
namental, $1  00. 

A  strange,  uncanny,  weird  story,  .  .  .  easily  the  best  of  its  class.  The 
reader  is  carried  away  by  it,  and  its  climax  is  a  work  of  literary  art. — 
Cincinnati  Commercial-  Gazette. 

The  Great  Shadow.     Post  Svo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  00. 

A  powerful  piece  of  story-telling.  Mr.  Doyle  has  the  gift  of  descrip- 
tion, and  he  knows  how  to  make  fiction  seem  leality. — Independent,  N.  Y. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

m^^  The  above  toorks  are  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  mailed  by  the  pub- 
lishers, postage  prepaid,  on  receipt  <>/  the  price. 


